Life Lessons from the Dance Floor

inspirational musings from a dancing scientist

  • Identities

    Identities

    In the world of dance, each style has its own unique identity. For example, in ballroom dancing the Waltz is elegant and graceful; Tango is dramatic and passionate; Quickstep is lively and playful. When I dance each style, I embody its identity. Identity as relating to sense of self is a highly complex topic, encompassing multiple types and sub-types, far beyond the scope of this blog. But I have been reflecting on my own identity(ies) after retiring from the federal government last December.

    Yesterday at a friend’s retirement party, the topic came up. When chatting with other recent retirees, I asked, “What did you do in your career and what are you doing now?” Former technical writers and computer programmers and marketing consultants lit up when sharing about their new chapters as writers and artists and musicians.

    Since leaving my scientific career, I’ve been focusing on creative passions including writing and dancing. My publisher encouraged updating my social media accounts, which invite a short bio. It’s an interesting exercise to sum oneself up in <100 characters. I wrote, “mother, author, scientist, mentor, dancer, traveler…” This list is incomplete, and does not convey the depth and personal meaning of the roles I cherish, or their interconnectedness. As Walt Whitman said, “I am large, I contain multitudes.”

    When missing my scientist persona (e.g., I was recently introduced as “Val, the substitute bowler” after being “Dr. Valerie Zartarian” throughout my career) and feeling a need to solve my personal identities integration problem, another quote (from Watering the Soul by Courtney Peppernell) reminded me that I don’t have to: “Sometimes it isn’t so much about stitching yourself together but rather about unraveling all that you thought you were and all that you thought you knew…”.

    Who do you say you are?

  • Turns in Dance and Life

    Turns in Dance and Life

    Basic moves in Viennese Waltz are natural (clockwise) and reverse (counterclockwise) turns, with change steps (a three-count connecting figure) in between. As my ballroom dance teacher has been breaking these down for me to practice, I’ve been reflecting once again on how dance mirrors life.

    With my family life, I view getting married and having children as natural turns. Those life transitions followed expectations, and might have appeared to flow as easily as a standard Waltz, despite their challenges. On the other hand–estrangements, chronic illness, divorce, and empty nest transition were change steps and reverse turns that threw me off balance and made me stumble and falter.

    In my education, graduating from elementary to middle to high school to college to grad school were natural turns. My hard work propelled me through the grades, as dedicated practice makes the Foxtrot look deceptively effortless when dancers float around the ballroom. School vacations and breaks were change steps, necessary to take a few breaths before pivoting to the next sequence of moves.

    My intense scientific career also flowed easily for me with extremely hard work, akin to a fast Viennese Waltz (typically danced at a tempo of 180 beats per minute). Promotions and awards were natural turns, and temporary position details (lateral assignments) were change steps. A dramatic reverse turn was unexpected early retirement, when the federal workforce was downsized in 2025. That sent me reeling, until I regained balance in my new phase of life focused on creative endeavors.

    Turns in both dance and life can be exhilarating, challenging, and rewarding. Even though reverse turns may feel unnatural, resisting them can be detrimental — and they are an important part of the dance, in the ballroom and in life!

    Which change steps and turns have made the most impact in your life?

  • Out of My League

    Out of My League

    The phrase “out of my league,” with a sports origin, refers to a skill too advanced for one’s current level. This weekend I volunteered as a substitute in a local bowling league, to try something new and because the 2023 documentary Join or Die (based on the 2000 book, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community) made an impression. I was literally out of my league as a beginner among advanced longtime bowlers. They were welcoming, despite my low score, but I struggled to connect (e.g., asking why we need to switch lanes)–so, unfortunately, I felt as if I were “bowling alone.” That uncomfortable, newcomer feeling is something I’ve experienced many times in my life.

    In college, I boldly and naively tried out for activities out of my (Ivy) league, including: the theater club, where I learned my drama background didn’t qualify me for university-level plays; the tennis team, where I embarrassed myself playing against classmates who had been competing since they could hold a racket; crew team, for the coxswain position, despite having no rowing experience; and dance team, where I must have thought my high school roles in Pippin and West Side Story qualified me to compete against Princeton dance majors. I did not make any of those teams, which was humbling.

    For those college dance team tryouts, the captain placed me in the front row of the group of talented women auditioning. I was expected to instantly pick up the jazz choreography sequences in real time, with everyone behind me watching. The first count of 8 was OK. The second and third counts were less OK, and the first section had escaped my brain when she called out, “From the top!” And so on, and so on, until I felt like Lucille Ball in a hilarious I Love Lucy episode (see “Lucy Takes Ballet Lessons”).

    Now, as the only new student in my current adult group “advanced beginner” tap class — with a nationally-renowned teacher and several dozen women who have studied under her for years — I once again feel out of my league, just like Lucy in that dance scene. Only four weeks into the season, the choreography is so complex I need to study the video from class and practice at home, to keep up and avoid the teacher singling me out. And yet, I love the joy of movement, the camaraderie, the sound of tapping in unison, the satisfaction of tackling an intense mental and physical challenge.

    Below is a favorite postcard I’ve had on my desk for decades. I’m proud of my younger and current self, willing to feel like a misfit (like the girl in the photo) for the sake of growth. I just saw this Kurt Vonnegut quote: “To practice any art, no matter how well or how badly, is a way to make your soul grow…”.

    What art have you practiced that felt out of your league at first?

  • Small World Discoveries

    Small World Discoveries

    Last weekend when I was out social Swing dancing, an older man who asked me to dance shared the exact address where he grew up when he introduced himself. I was speechless because a) that is not something one typically does, and b) it turns out that he grew up right across the street from my grandparents — and used to shovel their driveway six decades ago! He even remembered my grandfather’s name. What are the odds of this coincidence? As a child, I spent summers and holidays in that beautiful brick house my grandfather had built in the 1930s, and we both recalled the expansive view of Boston from the back patio. This was a surprising and unexpected connection on the dance floor.

    Last night I danced at the annual “Swingin’ on the Charles” Swing Dance event at the Charles River boat house. The skyline, sailboats, and red line “T” crossing the Longfellow Bridge provided a quintessential Boston backdrop to the jazz music and dancers on the docks. One thing I love about Swing Dance is that people who show up to social dance are passionate about this style and happy to dance with others, even much younger or older than themselves. I was happy to see a predominance of twenty-somethings from the local universities, mixing with dancers from various other ages up through their seventies.

    A young man in his late twenties asked me to dance, and commented that the Boston waterfront view reminded him of Seattle, where he’s from. I told him I used to visit Seattle often when I lived in California. After some back-and-forth conversation–while we were practicing back-and-forth Swing, Charleston and Lindy Hop moves–we discovered that we attended the same California graduate school for our PhDs in engineering, years apart.

    These two “small world” discoveries through casual dance floor conversation make me wonder how many more would be uncovered through more social connections and conversations on dance floors and other places in our day-to-day lives. What “small world” coincidences have you experienced?

  • Shakin’ My Groove Thing

    Shakin’ My Groove Thing

    Hello! It’s been too long since I last posted because, well…Life. Including unexpected early retirement, family medical challenges, traveling, finishing my novel, et cetera. But I’m happy to report that I have in fact danced a lot since my previous post. After a friend gave me a salsa lesson gift certificate for my last birthday, I took some private and group salsa and bachata lessons. While I haven’t yet managed to push myself out of my introverted comfort zone to venture into the social dance scene again, Spring is just around the corner with its endless possibilities.

    I also enjoyed adult group tap class again, at two different studios (one in my suburb and one in the city, with different teachers and age demographics), in which I learned more about tap and myself. Last fall I also took more private ballroom dance lessons, working on waltz, tango, foxtrot, and Viennese. This reinvigorated my dream of dancing the Viennese waltz in Vienna, preferably during the balls season, and ideally on New Year’s Eve. I learned that a dance friend of mine has the same dream, and we talked about traveling to Vienna together around our 60th birthdays, which happen to be a few months apart.

    Every one of these dance styles and experiences is a gift. Another gift I’m grateful for is the supreme joy I feel when dancing around my living room (or sometimes my basement or hotel room) by myself, playing my favorite songs on the Spotify list I created. Sometimes I blast the speaker with disco lights that strobe to the beat. Sometimes I dance with my eyes closed, and am transported to whatever decade and time in my life each song evokes. Every single time — whether I’m doing the twist, swing dancing, salsa dancing, disco dancing, freeform dancing — or all of the above, as I did tonight, I am 100% guaranteed to feel better after shakin’ my groove thing without a care in the world. If you haven’t turned your living room or basement into your own personal dance floor, I highly recommend trying it!

  • Dance Therapy

    Dance Therapy

    [[Note: this post was written in May, 2024]]

    Dancing is my preferred form of therapy. Heartbroken and fresh in the shock of betrayal that ended a three year relationship, I forced myself to attend a West Coast swing class followed by a social dance. It was out of my comfort zone and I was numb in mourning, but proud of myself for getting out, interacting with others, and enjoying movement. The following week I participated in group ballroom lessons, private ballroom lessons, and a ballroom/Latin social dance. I was feeling slightly lighter, though I broke down crying with my teacher when I couldn’t master the Viennese steps and had to excuse myself during a waltz with a stranger at the social dance when a “trigger song” that tugged at my heartstrings was played.

    Weeks later, I felt emotionally lighter and physically stronger in my private lessons. I was joking and laughing with my teacher, and mastered the tricky Viennese steps we were working on. I felt a little less raw when dancing to another trigger song. After my women’s adult tap class I realized my brain was thinking less about my breakup for longer stretches of time. I could tell from my dancing — which requires mind, heart, body, and soul — that with each passing week, grief was working its way through those so that I could return to myself again.

    A month later I attended a women’s retreat at the ocean. It was a joyous few days of reconnecting with myself and over 40 amazing women. We walked the beach, did yoga, made a craft, hiked in the forest, played games, did a writing activity, sang songs, and chatted over meals. And on Saturday night, we danced for hours. We danced and laughed with abandon in a big circle around a large djembe drum. We danced to disco, Motown, salsa, and pop hits from various decades. We took turns dancing in the middle and banging the drum. We bonded through the joy of expressive movement. I went to sleep exhausted and energized, and dreamt of choreographing a group dance number. The next morning, everyone shared something they do when they need spiritual renewal. Most of the responses were spending time with friends, walking in nature, and dancing. My answer was dancing.