80-20

It was the summer of 2005. I had been invited to teach at a wonderful studio’s summer intensive — five full days of classes. (Yes, back then, intensives were five days long!) Around that time, I’d been reflecting a lot on life — the choices we make, the paths we take, and how we spend the limited time we have here.

Think about it: we spend 40, 50, sometimes more hours every week doing something — one single thing — over the span of years, even decades. When you really stop and sit with that, it’s kind of deep, no? If so much of our lives are devoted to one pursuit, then it’s pretty important that we choose something that comes from the heart — something that reflects that what we do, is who we are.

So, I decided to bring this idea into the studio. At the end of my first class with the senior students, I had them sit down and we began to talk about this — about purpose, fulfillment, and how we choose our paths. These dancers were between 16 and 18, right at the edge of those big life decisions so I felt we should dive in. After an engaging discussion, I gave them a simple assignment:
“Go home this week and ask your parents — Why did you choose your career path? Why did you decide to do what you do for a living?”

We agreed that at the end of the week, on Friday, we’d sit down again and share what they had learned.

When Friday came, the results were eye-opening — and honestly, a little heartbreaking.
About 80% of the students said their parents chose their careers because “it pays the bills.” Only about 20% said their parents followed their hearts, their passions, or their childhood dreams.

The dancers listened closely to each other’s stories, and you could see it sinking in — the realization that most of the adults they looked up to were living lives chosen out of necessity rather than joy. Many of them described their parents as tired, stressed, or simply unhappy with their day-to-day grind. The few whose parents had followed their hearts, though — those stories had a completely different energy. There was pride, enthusiasm, and a sense of peace in their words.

Eighty-twenty.
Eighty percent surviving.
Twenty percent truly living.

That ratio stuck with me. Because what I also noticed — and this was the wild part — was how the students’ energy in class mirrored those findings. The ones who came from households where passion was alive seemed lighter, freer, more open. The ones whose parents were weighed down by dissatisfaction often carried that same heaviness. It was as if fulfillment — or the lack of it — was inherited in spirit.

That experience reaffirmed something I’ve always believed deep down: following your heart isn’t just a nice idea — it’s imperative. And teaching our youth to do this — to listen to that inner voice and trust it — may be one of the greatest responsibilities we have as mentors, educators, and human beings.

As dance teachers, we’re in a unique position to guide students toward that kind of self-awareness. Dance, after all, is life in motion. It teaches resilience, discipline, vulnerability, confidence, and authenticity. It asks you to show up fully — body, mind, and spirit — and to find your truth in movement.

When we mentor through dance, we’re not just teaching steps or technique. We’re helping young people connect to their inner compass — to discover who they are and to trust that who they are is enough. That is the real gift of teaching. That is the real gift of the dance

Because dance is life lessons — expressed through art, through emotion, through courage. And if we can teach even a handful of young people to follow their hearts, maybe one day that 80–20 ratio will start to flip.

With Luv

Ryan,