Finding My Rhythm: Healing, Leading, Becoming

I never expected the dance floor to become my leadership classroom.

Each week, I step onto the hardwood floor and enter a space unlike any other in my life—a place where I’m not the one in control. Where I don’t direct the tempo. Where I must be quiet enough inside to hear another’s lead. My dance instructor gives me this space—a safe one. One where I can ask questions without judgment. One where listening becomes an act of trust.

It’s more than steps and rhythm. He teaches me how to feel.

When I miss a lead, he doesn’t correct with criticism. He invites me to reflect. “Were you open to that signal?” “What might you have been feeling in that moment?” His prompts ask me to attune to my emotional state, to how I shut down when I’m thinking too hard or trying too hard. He challenges me to feel more, control less.

There was one particular moment—I remember the floor was buzzing with other dancers. The music began, and I stepped into frame. He raised his left hand, an elegant but subtle cue. I missed it. I paused, frustrated. But he just looked at me and said gently, “You have to listen with your body.” And he was right. In that moment, I had been leading myself. I hadn’t let myself follow.

This vulnerability—to miss a cue, to not know the answer, to learn in real-time—has become a foundation of trust between us. Over time, that trust has allowed conversations to deepen beyond dance.

One day, I was reflecting aloud to him that I believe leaders must lead with humility. He listened carefully, then paused. “Humility is good,” he said, “but a leader also needs a bit of cockiness.” I laughed at first—cockiness? But he continued, “Think of a basketball player. Imagine one walking onto the court sheepishly, head down. No one would follow him. Now imagine he walks in confident—back straight, full presence. He’s not just playing. He’s leading.”

He had a point. Confidence isn’t arrogance when it’s earned. It inspires followership. That kind of energy draws people in—it signals conviction, courage, and clarity. It was a perspective I hadn’t fully considered.

Another time, we were talking about medicine and mistakes—how heavy it feels when a patient dies after a complication. I shared how that weight can follow a physician long after the surgery is over. He listened again, then asked, “But doesn’t the patient bear some responsibility, too? I mean—if they smoked for years or didn’t take care of themselves?”

His question surprised me. My instinct was to defend the patient. But then I realized: he was offering another lens. He wasn’t denying compassion—he was expanding the narrative. He helped me see how both personal responsibility and systemic care coexist in the complexity of healing.

These conversations made me pause. Not just as a dancer, not just as a surgeon—but as a leader.

I started wondering: in meetings I’ve led, in decisions I’ve made, had I really listened to the perspectives in the room? Or had I simply waited for others to validate what I already believed?

Leadership Lesson:
True leadership begins with presence. Presence to listen. To receive. To consider that someone else’s experience—even if it challenges our own—can expand our view. Emotional intelligence isn’t just a buzzword; it’s the capacity to lead with both confidence and curiosity.

Sometimes, you don’t need a conference room to learn how to lead. Sometimes, all it takes is a dance floor and a teacher who sees more in you than you ever imagined.