The Selfless Act of Being Selfish

In the world of dance, selflessness is practically stitched into our DNA. Teachers pour themselves into their students, choreographers craft with competitions and directors in mind, and performers often bend themselves into knots chasing audience approval. We give and give — until sometimes, there’s not much left of us to give.

I’ve been there. Guilty as charged. The late nights reworking choreography so it “reads better” for the judges, the classes where every ounce of energy is reserved for my students, the performances where I cared more about applause than about truth. At first glance, it feels noble. It feels like the way it should be. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: if we never put ourselves first, eventually there’s nothing left to share.

So, what if we reimagined what it means to be “selfish”?

What if, before stepping into the studio or onto the stage, we made sure our own hearts were full? What if teachers prioritized their own artistry as much as their students’ growth? What if choreographers created not for scoresheets but from their own curiosity and passion? What if performers danced because something inside them needed to be expressed, not just because an audience expected it?

Imagine how much more alive our work would feel.

Being selfish in this way doesn’t mean turning our backs on students, audiences, or collaborators. It means showing up with our best selves — energized, inspired, and authentic. It means recognizing that the more we invest in our own growth, the richer our contributions to others become.

Yes, it might feel strange saying no sometimes. Maybe you don’t choreograph twenty plus numbers this season. Maybe you cut back teaching hours to make room for your own training. Maybe you finally spend money on that workshop, mentorship program, or class you’ve been putting off because it “felt indulgent.” Spoiler: it’s not indulgence — it’s fuel. And like any good investment, it comes back tenfold.

We waste so much money and energy on things that don’t feed us. Why not spend it on something that will? Why not choose the kind of selfishness that keeps us curious, growing, and in love with our craft?

The irony is this: when we fill our own cup first, everyone else benefits more deeply. Students learn from a teacher who is lit up, not burned out. Audiences connect with a performer who is present and genuine, not just polished. Fellow artists are inspired by someone who leads by example — continuing to learn, to risk, to grow.

So maybe selfishness isn’t the dirty word we thought it was. Maybe it’s the most selfless gift we can offer to the people we serve.

At the end of the day, this life in dance isn’t about perfection, medals, or applause. It’s about presence. And presence can only come from a place of fullness.

So go ahead: be selfish. Take that class. Create that piece. Join that organization or community. Invest in yourself. Protect your spark. Because when you do, you’re not just serving yourself — you’re giving the very best of you to everyone lucky enough to cross your path.

With love,

Ryan