The most influential dance teacher of mine was a martial arts practitioner before he became a dancer. When I asked about the difference between the two different phases of his life, he told me that there was fundamentally no difference, indicating that he viewed either form as a tool to shape the life he wanted. That is, a life supported by a lifelong craft where there is no final destination. At least this was my understanding of what he said then.

Over two decades of dancing some particular genres of Latin dances, there were many moments when I would ask myself, “But why do I keep doing this?” That was not a question out of frustration; it was born out of curiosity and a desire to understand myself deeply. And I often remembered what my dance teacher had told me, and it was satisfying to assume that perhaps I have also gradually internalized the idea – that a life with a permanent practice is a beautiful one, and that a life centered around a fixed routine would keep mine from going astray.

Recently I heard someone explaining the difference between ‘amateur’ and ‘pro’ based on their etymological roots. According to that, an amateur is someone who simply loves something (‘amare’ means to love), while a ‘professional’ is someone who has ‘declared something publicly’ (‘profiteri’ means to declare). In this context, a pro therefore is someone who has publicly declared their highly-achieved skills that they are willing to provide to others, often for compensation. This etymological perspective makes one thing clear: an amateur can exist alone as long as they love the activity; however, a pro only exists when there is external recognition and appreciation, whether they love what they do or not.

As social beings, we do need external appreciation, approval, and moral support. Not only does it feel great to be liked and praised, it often provides the critical financial means for the pros to sustain their practices.

However, a pro who is not fundamentally an ‘amateur’ cannot continue the journey for a long time. A pro inevitably develops a damaged capacity to handle disappointment, because it becomes harder to lose the applause. And it becomes painful to be misunderstood and doubted. In other words, their ability to accept the lonely journey of self-expression has weakened.

So, in a rather ironic way, my treasured practice of dancing is a regular reminder that I am on a lonely journey, and that feels correct. I feel that at least I am not lying to myself about life. And it gives me the strength to listen with attention to the particular songs my body likes to sing. I feel loved through the things I love.