I was at a dance competition one summer. I had a bit of an elusive relationship with these events. I often didn’t attend, and when I did, the dancers rarely knew I was there. I liked my backstage role. Out of sight.
Pep talks were a thing for many choreographers. They’d head backstage before a performance to hype up their dancers. But pep talks weren’t my thing. I never quite knew what to say. There was so much I wanted to say, but words often failed me. (Hello, this is why we dance!)
At this particular event, one of my pieces was selected for the closing showcase. As the dancers waited backstage, I told my boss how much I hated pep talks (she already knew how awkward they were for me). I was afraid to be myself, and afraid not to be myself, both at once.
If I was fully me, I’d probably say something unconventional and get strange looks or awkward laughs. I never liked attention, which is why I chose a career backstage rather than on stage. But if I said something generic, I’d leave disappointed in myself for not being true. So, most of the time, I said nothing.
But this time felt different. I sensed the Lord nudging me to go backstage and be with the dancers before their final performance. My boss offered to go instead, but I knew it had to be me.
I walked back, breathing deep, with no idea what I’d say. When the dancers saw me, they began to gather. Soon, nearly 20 of us stood in a circle, every face turned toward me.
I had nothing rehearsed. So I said the only honest thing I could think of.
“I was afraid to come back here,” I admitted. “I never know what to say before performances. Sometimes I worry that what I have to say won’t be good enough.” I was surprised at what just came out of my mouth.
They just looked at me. Silent.
“And still,” I said, “I knew I needed to come. I wanted to come. But I don’t know what to say.”
We all stood there and took a breath.
I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me to invite them to join me in naming a fear. So I asked if they’d be willing to go around and share something they were afraid of.
They agreed.
What followed was one of the most beautiful moments that is forever captured in my memory. One by one, each dancer spoke, naming fear. Fear of failure. Fear of not meeting expectations. Fear of falling. Fear of being a disappointment. Each confession was raw and tender and real.
I tried to hide my tears because, again, not an attention lover. But my heart surrendered to the sweetness of their words. The boldness in their honesty.
And somehow, that was the performance, in that moment, and in that circle. The brave, beating heart in each of them. It was the most real thing in the room.
And then, they danced.
Needless to say, it was breathtaking. The dancers expressed from their hearts in a way that felt more real than all the other times they performed this piece. Their aliveness was palpable.
Afterward, I asked them how it felt. They couldn’t put words to it.
“It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” one said.
“Indescribable,” said another.
So we left it at that.
Here’s what I learned about fear that day: I didn’t need to get rid of it. I just needed to bring it to the light. To tell the truth. And to invite others to do the same.
Sending you courage today,
Jodie
In case you’re curious about this performance, here is the video. No recording could do it justice and that’s the beauty of live work. Still such a sweet memory.