It's not often that I come across a movie that utterly knocks me off my feet, one where pieces of myself live within the form of its main character and cause me to reassess my defining moments. To my surprise, Frances Ha, a movie about a 27-year-old white woman living in NYC, had this effect and echoes from my past life rang until I emerged back in the body of who I used to be, with dreams that never came to fruition. Now, at 23, Frances's inability to know what's coming next in her life, her friendship gravely threatened by change, and what feels like everlasting financial troubles hits home for me; she also happens to be an aspiring dancer. This was the final missing puzzle piece, one that resurfaced an identity that's been laid to rest. I considered myself a dancer, but I no longer call myself such. I don't think I do, but I don't feel completely isolated from that experience either. That's something that never really leaves, as it existed before I even began to study it. Dating back to being a kid and moving in a frenzied manner, the contagious rhythms of what my parents played would take control in ways that brought me inexplicable happiness—even considering the education, all of the hours I spent at the barre or doing drop swings1 counted for something, and always will, despite losing its frequency. It's complex.
Frances is an apprentice for a dance company, and an understudy's life is usually shown through scenes in her workplace. Her form is rather loose, and her movements can be clumsy and awkward. When asked to do a thing, show some piece of what her career is focused on by peers, she blushes and does a sloppy pirouette with a smile as she lands off center. I find this extraordinarily charming, and it reminds me of myself. When I started studying dance, it was later than most people did, and my initial lack of coordination would stick out like a sore thumb amongst child prodigies. Although discouraged, I knew I was sitting on something special, an inner sly mirth responding to my brewing insecurity as I understood my potential while everyone around me may not see it yet.
I didn't have the means to train in my early youth. I finally had an opportunity to go after something I've always wanted to try; being the best of the best couldn't be my main focus, nor should it have stopped me from trying. I'd forget counts, miss a step or two, use too much force when I needed to appear light, use too much delicacy when I needed some oomph, and all of these things got easier as I became more disciplined. Critiques hurt, feet bled, and tears were shed, but it was exhilarating, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I could do what had already been in action: use movement to express myself, but now, in a structured environment focused on exploring an art form and gaining the proper education necessary to execute different skills. Whether I sucked or not, I was living the dreams of little me, and she deserved these moments, even with all of the baggage.
I specialized in two forms of dance, modern and ballet: one has a free motion flow, and the other I refer to as body math. Modern dance was a delightful release for me, and while studying it, I felt the most connected to my body, even if it was shrouded by unrest back then. The emphasis on recovery after descent and exhibiting body harmony, with so many variations of how that may appear, was healing. Establishing these qualities in the body while experiencing the opposite externally as I showed up in the world demonstrates how dance relates to everyday life, either mirroring or, in this case, contradicting it. Apart from living this, it was affirming to see on screen, "this idea of learning how to fall and being close to the ground and actually having groundedness, these are amazing metaphors for Frances because she's looking for groundedness and she's also learning how to fall and learning how to fail and learning how to get back up."2 It was all about adapting. I didn't think of it at the moment as I was dealing with all sorts of things, but dancing was just inexorable adapting, which reflected me then and still does.
About body math, I have a funny story. I was not too fond of ballet at first, and that's a more polite expression; I actually detested it for a long while. I would complain incessantly whenever I wasn't doing it, and I'd be a pool of nervous sweat the entire time I practiced it in class. The technicality and precision of the genre reminded me a lot of math, a study with a clear right and wrong, it's rigid. As I also studied a dance form with fewer boundaries, I found it difficult to conform to strictness. I believe my change of heart came when I did things correctly and showed improvement over time. Just as solving an equation was rewarding for someone terrible at math, finishing my adagio combination without error made me feel like an Olympian. Ballet was a healthy challenge for me, and it got my brain working, overtime to keep it a buck. The mastery of balancing alignment and grace wasn't always achieved. Still, instead of defeat, I felt excited to possibly succeed on days where I'd have another crack at it because the celebration was a feeling like no other.
Learning, practicing, and performing were all incredibly fulfilling to me. This world that I pretty much surrounded my identity around at the time brought these unforgettable niche experiences that still linger in my mind. Waiting in between the wings3 for my cue, moaning and groaning during long tech rehearsals, marking choreography with fellow dancers, intrinsically standing in first position4 while doing mundane activities, it was a lifestyle that I wanted to cling onto for as long as possible. Dancing took me places I wouldn't have anticipated. From sold-out shows for renowned companies to guest classes and intensives, opportunities as stage crew, choreographing, and, of course, the many productions I was able to be a part of (including a community musical theater moment that I do not shut up about to this day). To show up one day unseasoned and as a blank canvas and find myself in these situations, all from taking a chance and prioritizing commitment, should've been enough to make me feel like I was at the right place, at the exact time I should've been there. It still brings warmth to carry these glimpses of the good old days with me and feel how that era of my life built me up, even considering the haunting times when it broke me down.
We talk about the dancers who excel and go pro. We talk about those with two left feet who never try, wishing they could be dancers and hoping to experience it in another life. There are middle grounds: A space for dancers who won't go pro and may not even consider it. A space for dancers that are quite skilled without being an embodiment of a dancer of the highest caliber. A space for dancers who are dedicated and driven by their artistry, even if everyone around them doesn't think they have a chance. A space for those who do it because they simply love it, with no other reason. What does it mean to be an amateur alongside such established archetypes regarding what the life of a dancer looks like and means? I became progressively hard on myself and felt out of place in environments that once brought me contentment because I wanted so badly to define my experience in these limiting categories and to define my future that didn't exactly look like those of others instead of just enjoying it for what it was.
My developing feelings of self-doubt mutated into something much more soul-crushing, a truly malignant aura that overshadowed so many moments I should have been more proud of. That's the thing; it's soooo easy to overthink yourself into an abyss of negativity and retrogression even when your finest hours are right before your very eyes. Was I in a rather competitive environment? Yes. Did I have many, and I mean, many humbling moments? Yes. I was imperfect, as we all are. There will always be someone better than me, and instead of feeling threatened, they should serve as encouragement to keep going. The mere thought of being inferior to others drove me mad and hindered me from fully believing in myself, which could've taken me down a completely different path. I didn't end up dancing in my collegiate years, I didn't join a world-class dance company, I didn't become a dance teacher, and that's okay. I don't look at what I decided to do as a mistake, but I do ruminate on how different things would be if I gave it my all and didn't succumb to my fears of looking silly or never amounting to this figure of myself that I frantically obsessed over although she was never really me.
Throughout the film, Frances discusses joining the touring company with high hopes that she'll land the position, only for it to be a long shot. She ends up working in the company's office as a bookkeeper and remains a choreographer. Towards the end of the film, we see Frances and all of her peers with whom she came into contact at different phases of her life view her piece:
While this wasn't what Frances had imagined for herself, the road not taken created something different but something worthy of attention and love. Intrigue radiates on everyone's expression as they watch this product, which is attached to Frances's uninhibited personality, exude cohesion and confidence. Frances watches and takes in the beauty of what she made, satisfaction mainly shown on her face, but there's a hint of sadness. It's brutal, the conflicting emotions of wanting to be in someone else's position while knowing it's not attainable or meant for you at that moment. It's still a fantastic feeling to see your ideas come to life, and as Frances may imagine herself in the shoes of her cast, dancing and becoming the audience's muse, she's also a source of artistic inspiration. It takes guts to put a dream on the back burner and move forward, and to be proud of the outcome is admirable. Dreams can take different forms, molding new routes and pouring motivation and passion into the unexpected.
I no longer want to give myself these harsh boundaries that make it such a task to celebrate myself and my wins. Hey, even my losses, too, because they signify that I'm trying and there's progress to be made. As I age, I'm realizing that no one is thinking about me nearly as much as I believe they are. Maybe back then, they were, but not anymore. Although I can't rewrite history and make myself bold and unafraid, I can actively preserve this mentality to ensure that I will stand by my choices stubbornly so I won't have to bear the sour taste of guilt, regret, or embarrassment in times when I should be present and times where I'm looking back. For once, it feels silly to suppress these memories of the past and keep them tucked away, especially since they make my eyes gleam when I ramble about them. Perhaps I'm not giving myself enough credit: I threw myself headfirst into one of my wildest desires, and in a lot of ways, I blossomed. While I didn't always show up for myself as needed, valuable takeaways from dancing still appear when I least expect them. Dancing taught me perseverance, gave me courage, and helped me practice humility while still appreciating that I am unique, and it's all in my stride.
Frances is a dancer, as am I. The more I think about this with great care and remember it all with no agenda to shoulda, coulda, or woulda my past, the more I'm filled with happiness and gratitude. With all the pressure aside, my experience was exceedingly beautiful. To some, I was too flawed and mediocre at most. To some, I was fabulous and a pleasure to witness. Both of these opinions determine nothing about how dance changed the trajectory of my life; only I can vouch for that. You may find me at a drop-in class. You will most definitely find me on the dancefloor. To myself, I seized the moment in the best way I could, and my story as a dancer is far from over.
A modern dance technique where the upper body is released while remaining grounded.
Madden, Hope. “Greta Gerwig Acts, Writes, Dances, Talks to Columbus Underground.” Columbus Underground, 30 May 2013, columbusunderground.com/greta-gerwig-acts-writes-dances-talks-to-columbus-underground-hm1/.
Spaces on the stage that mask the performer from the audience.
A dance position where the hips are rotated outwards, the heels are touching, and the feet appear in a V-shape or a flat line while the toes are turned out.