When I was 8 years old, my parents enrolled me in ballet. It didn’t last long. Ronds de jambe and pliés didn’t phase me, and neither did the choreography. It was the last 10 minutes of class — the free dance — that I found painfully awkward. Invariably, we chose to dance to “Lollipop” by The Chordettes. We were granted free reign over the costume box filled with plastic tiaras and wands, feathery boas and sparkly tutus. The other girls would run through the room, spinning like tops on a table; I stayed stiff as a board, watching as the clock hand ticked to the end of the hour. Maybe that free dance was the most fun part of the class for everyone else, but I detested that feeling of uncertainty. 

It wasn’t until this fall that I ever seriously considered trying dance again. I was looking for a fun class for the winter as I prepared to take the Medical College Admission Test. A friend of mine suggested I consider taking Dance 101-1: Introduction to the Dance Experience. After talking to her and reading the CTECs, I decided I wouldn’t be completely out of place as a non-dancer and enrolled in the class. 

I’m not sure if I had any expectations coming into the class, but within the first few days, I found myself surprisingly excited for the rest of the quarter. While there were expected readings on choreography and techniques, we also read a moving essay about the difficulties of grant writing in the arts and a fascinating piece on kinesthetic empathy in dance.

The latter piece references dance critic John Martin’s description of kinesthetic empathy: “sensory experience could have the effect of ‘reviving memories of previous experiences over the same neuromuscular paths,’ and also of ‘making movements or preparations for movement.’” This reading supplemented my prior understanding of the role of mirror neurons which fire in response to both performing and simply observing a movement. This activation is often cited as the neural basis for empathy and is partially responsible for the spectrum of emotions we feel when watching a dance performance. 

After a few weeks of practicing conditioning videos, we began to introduce group and individual improvisation. Conceptually, I understood that “doing” improv is really an exercise in listening to my impulses and not hesitating to indulge them. In reality, I felt certain I would fail the assignment.

The improvisation, however, felt nothing like my old ballet class. Sure, there was awkwardness and uncertainty as I began my initial movements, but those intruding thoughts receded to the back of my mind as I redirected my attention to the way I felt and the space around me. This shift in focus allowed me to release any self-judgment and simply enjoy the movement my body produced.

A particularly salient memory was the day when, in the midst of individual improvisation, our professor asked us to continue dancing but now while maintaining eye contact with someone else. We all flowed through that practice room, arms arching, bodies spinning. As my gaze latched onto someone else’s, we harmonized, creating movement unique to the two of us. I became aware of another person in a way we are not in our daily lives, despite being surrounded by people. Eventually, the moment dissolved, and I was dancing alone until someone else drifting by paused, met my eyes and it began all over again. 

It was one thing to read about the wonders of kinesthetic empathy, but another to generate and experience it myself. It was no exaggeration to say I felt connected to others in a way I had no idea even existed. When I was anxious and dreading the day, I looked forward to those 80 minutes of being present and connecting with others through dance. It was a revelation. 

As the quarter drew to a close, I shared how my perception of dance had shifted dramatically with my friend who had recommended the class. She enthusiastically agreed, citing her own experiences with both performance and choreography. While I don’t think you will see me on stage anytime soon, I feel privileged to know the extraordinary connectivity found in the collective dance experience.

Annika Hiredesai is a Weinberg junior. She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.