The Problem with Making It

By Kelvin Vu

Kelvin VuLast week, I packed my San Francisco life into two suitcases, one small duffel bag, and an even smaller backpack and moved across the world to start my first contracted dance job.  The journey took three flights and totaled more than twenty-four hours, but I arrived safe, though exhausted, and down one piece of luggage.  The move felt momentous, epic even–a new chapter, a new life!  In some ways, this experience has felt important.  This is my first time living abroad, and the first time that I’ll be able to live (albeit humbly) as a paid dancer.  It’s easy to feel that this is the result of hard work and dedication, that I am about to start life as a true professional, that I’ve made it.

Despite the romance of world travel and big chapter changes, however, I’ve realized that making it is the last thing I want to do.

For most of my life, it was easy to measure time and effort in stages and in terms of accomplishments.  And the promise of a new threshold of achievement or understanding seemed an easy motivation.  I followed a simple logic: work hard and be rewarded with recognition and a pass to the next level.  Navigating life (at least in retrospect) could not have been more straightforward.

Elementary school led to middle school led to high school; success in each grade (as measured by letters and test scores) meant easier entry to a better next stage.  Awards reflected how much I had achieved at each point: outstanding science project in third grade, math department award in high school, senior thesis prize in college.  Acceptance into and graduation from college felt a lot like cashing in on my overall investment and achievements and seemed like an appropriate jumping off point for a successful life.  Up to that point, recognition had been built into the system.

Making it as a dancer, however, has been much murkier.  I came into dance later than most of my peers and began my serious training at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance without much of the technical knowledge or notions of success they did.  While I felt behind, starting as an outsider freed me from the competition, rejection, and scars that seemed to riddle and haunt the dance histories of many of my friends.  I observed that the struggle to make it seemed near-universal and consuming.

After immersing myself in the dance community, I’ve realized that the notion of making it, or making it “big,” continues to thrive and influence the way we make decisions about our training and our work.  I’ve seen it manifest primarily in two ways.

First, there’s the notion of making it as the start of something, as the entry point to a new life.  So often, we dream about the kinds of people we will be after something momentous happens–after we find our life partner or after we get a job.  Our future selves are exemplary.  They are generous, beautiful, moving, put-together–all of the traits that we hope to embody, after we cross a very visible, but far-off bridge.  In contrast, the present is full of the hustle and grind of trying to get there.  It’s the before period, a mix of training, part-time work, unpaid projects, near-misses, and frequent existential crises.  But what’s preventing us from becoming our shiny future selves now?  Why can’t the practice of being generous and moving take us where we want to go instead of serving as the reward?  Like one of my mentors once posed, why wait to practice glory?

Second, there’s making it as an end goal, as the finish line, as the glamor of beating the odds and winning the rat race.  It’s the point we reach after the hard work is behind us, the point at which we can relish the spotlight and milk the benefits.  There’s a stage, and people know our names.  While this idea of fame and fortune can be a real turn-on, it boils down to two things we crave so much: recognition and continued compensation.  The reality is, however, that even the most coveted dance contracts or commissions don’t come with a six-figure income, tenure, or a pension plan.  Resting or retiring comfortably on our much-earned laurels isn’t really an option.

The main problem with the notion of making it is that it hinges on an external framework of approval and acceptance and depends a great deal on luck.  True talent, heart, and commitment exist on their own, independent of a paycheck or the elusive and fickle attention of others.  In truth, nothing changes after we make it, besides perhaps the growth of our income (by a little) and our egos (by a lot).  Getting a job doesn’t transform us into amazing artists or role models.  And it surely doesn’t cure our bad skin, inability to remember counts, or low arabesque.  Whatever making it means, it’s mostly an illusion that feeds our own sense of importance.

The people I have come to admire most–in and outside of the dance community–are the ones for whom making it had no consequence as a personal measurement.  It didn’t alter their ambition, creative talents, or drive.  Instead, success was only a byproduct or a label someone else stuck on while they were doing what they loved and pursuing the questions that interested them most.  It’s revealing, comical even, to think about our greatest icons and innovators navigating by the compass of success.  What if Galileo, Vincent van Gogh, Henry David Thoreau, or Pina Bausch had been worried about making it?  Of course, there are instances of hardworking and passionate people gaining recognition for their efforts and talents, but for the vast majority of those who make an impact and leave great change in their wake, the work is what drives them, what keeps them going.  Why else would luminaries like I. M. Pei, Jean Paul Gaultier, or Harold Bloom continue to do what they have been doing for decades?  And for how many has fame and celebrity stunted their genius?  And how many people continue to produce amazing work without prestige?

The temptation of making it–and wanting to make it–is relentless.  In many ways, we’re raised on the notion that we can make it big, and we base many of our decisions on this hope.  Worse yet, we determine our self-worth by how closely we come to attaining success or at least proving to others that we have.  And in our chase for glory, it has become too easy to overlook the people who have supported our careers, the opportunities that promise growth but no spotlight, and the beauty of working simply because of the work.

I feel extremely lucky in how my dance career has unfolded thus far.  The teachers and artists I have worked with, the incredibly talented peers I have met, the rejections I’ve been handed, and the opportunities that have opened to me–from scholarships to restaurant jobs–have all been blessings, never in disguise.  I hope that following my interests and asking questions that matter to me will continue to lead me to people and places where working and the work are what feed me, not my ego.  And I hope that no matter what luck finds me or where it brings me that I stay humble and hungry.

Kelvin Vu began dancing while at Yale University and later trained at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance under the direction of Summer Lee Rhatigan.  He most recently worked with Project Thrust, Sharp & Fine, and Joy Prendergast.  He recently joined the Batsheva Ensemble in Tel Aviv, Israel.

5 Responses to “The Problem with Making It”

  1. Brigida Neves

    Dear Kevin, your words touched me profoundly and it’s wonderful that you have reached such conclusions already at such young age, and young experience. From a fellow dancer, I admire your commitment to your search and wish you all the best along it’s path.

  2. Tim Rubel

    Work it Kelvin! So well put. And with humor and honesty. Your words resonated with me a lot as I just got a really big dance opportunity in Oregon. While its not my first, it feels like it is in many ways. Being a dancer is all about reinventing the wheel each time with each job, staying curious with each teacher and opening your heart with each step you take. I noticed these qualities in you when I first met you. I can’t wait to here how things pan out for you with Batsheva, and to see you on stage with them.

    xo
    Tim.

  3. Karen Joslin

    Way to go Kelvin and well said – Devon’s mom…

  4. Shirley Ching

    Humble and hungry are the first qualities I noticed about you when I first saw you in Tristan’s ballet class. That impression solidified each time I saw you dance. Congratulations on this newest journey…for most, a sign you’ve made it:) I’m sure you will stay humble and hungry throughout your life…your essay was so touching and thoughtful. Loved it.

  5. Mackenzie

    Kelvin,
    You have an eloquent vocabulary that puts many to shame and that only enhances your ability to put into words such an important and invaluable piece of experience and knowledge that we can all learn and gain from. It is the kind of encouragement and honest explanation we may not have ever recognized or been shared/taught – but I will be sharing this with many.

    I’m proud of you, proud to know you, to have danced among you and many others —- this right here was golden, this right here is what generations below us and above need to read and let marinate. Thank you for being so wonderful and so inspiring! Always a huge fan – miss you tons!
    Congrats!!

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