Ready Or Not

I’ve been under the weather for the last few days, and honestly, being forced to slow down has given me a lot of time to think. When you’re constantly moving, producing, creating, working, and dealing with people, you don’t always get the chance to really sit with what you’ve experienced. You just keep going because there’s always something else that needs your attention. But now that I’ve had to slow down, I’ve been thinking a lot about how people perceive me, how people treat me, and how much of that has ultimately changed the way I move ; not just as a person, but as a leader.

A lot of these thoughts have been coming up since the shows, particularly around respect and what that actually looks like when things don’t go the way you planned. There were performers who didn’t meet their ticket minimums, and honestly, that in itself isn’t what bothered me. Shit happens. People have different circumstances, different levels of support, different networks, and different abilities to sell tickets. I understand that. What really stood out to me was how people handled it.

There were performers who called me before the show even happened because they were concerned about where they stood. They communicated with me, told me what they were seeing, and actually talked through a plan. They were trying to figure out how they could make things work before the show even happened. And even if they ultimately didn’t hit the number, I could respect that because they showed me that they understood the responsibility they had taken on. More importantly, they respected me enough to communicate.

And then there were people who didn’t.

Some took vacations. Some chose to participate in other shows that they felt were more popular or more important, and they put their energy into promoting those opportunities instead. And listen, everybody is entitled to make their own decisions. If you want to take a vacation, take a vacation. If you want to do another show, do another show. If you want to put your energy somewhere else, that’s your business. But you also have to understand that your choices have consequences. You can choose to prioritize another opportunity, but you can’t then act like the commitment you already made to someone else just disappeared.

And that’s really where the disconnect happened for me.

Because now the show is over, and some of these same people are moving through life like everything is perfectly normal. They’re doing other shows, promoting other work, posting on social media, and carrying on. But when it comes time to respond to me about what they owe based on an agreement they willingly entered into, suddenly there’s nothing to say. It’s almost like because they don’t feel like paying, the obligation somehow disappeared. At this point, some of them are basically giving me their ass to kiss, and honestly, that’s fine. I’m not interested in begging anybody to honor a contract. If I have to take legal action to enforce something that was already agreed upon, then that’s what I’m going to do.

And what’s interesting to me is that we don’t really think about this the same way when it comes to other areas of the entertainment industry. If an artist signs an agreement to perform at a venue and there’s a certain number of tickets or seats that need to be sold in order to cover the production costs, nobody is going to tell the venue, “Well, they didn’t sell enough, so I guess everybody else just has to eat that cost.” That’s not how it works.

Those agreements are made based on projections. The artist is agreeing to a certain number because there are expenses attached to putting that show together ; venue costs, staffing, production, marketing, equipment, and all the other things that have to be paid for. And a lot of those expenses aren’t necessarily paid upfront. They’re being covered based on the expectation that the artist will fulfill their end of the agreement.

So if Beyoncé, Usher, Ciara, Chris Brown, or any other major artist signs an agreement that says they’re responsible for selling a certain number of seats in order to cover the costs associated with their performance, they’re not just let off the hook because they didn’t hit the number. The fact that the show happened doesn’t magically make the financial obligation disappear. There is still an agreement, and there are still expenses that have to be paid.

And that’s really what a ticket minimum is. It’s not some random punishment I created because I wanted performers to sell a bunch of tickets. It’s a way of making sure that the production can actually sustain itself. I’m putting up my time, my money, my name, my resources, and my company to create these opportunities, and I can’t build a production around projections and then be expected to personally absorb the loss when someone decides they don’t want to honor their part of the agreement.

That’s why it’s been so frustrating to watch some people treat the minimum like it was optional. You agreed to it. You knew what the number was. You had the opportunity to ask questions. You had the opportunity to decide whether the commitment was something you could realistically take on. And once you said yes, that agreement became part of the production budget.

So when the show is over and the numbers aren’t where they needed to be, the answer can’t just be, “Well, I didn’t sell that many tickets.” I know you didn’t. That’s why we’re having this conversation. The whole point of the agreement was to account for that possibility.

And honestly, this whole experience is a big part of why I’ve intentionally stayed away, for the most part, from relying on the most popular local names for my shows. Because popularity and professionalism are two completely different things. I don’t care how many followers you have, how many people know your name, how many classes you’ve taught, what teams you’ve been on, or how many people scream when you walk into a room. If you don’t know how to communicate, honor an agreement, and take accountability when things don’t go the way you planned, then none of that popularity means much to me.

And I think people sometimes forget that I’m an artist too. I’m a dancer. I’m a creative. I’ve taken the classes. I’ve been on teams. I’ve worked with people. I’ve supported people. I’ve been part of movements. I know what it’s like to be on the other side of an opportunity. But I’m also a business owner, and when you enter into an agreement with my company, we’re no longer just two dancers who happen to know each other. We’re in a professional relationship. The fact that we may have taken class together, worked together, supported each other, or crossed paths before doesn’t erase that.

For a long time, though, I think I allowed those lines to get blurry because I was so concerned with protecting the platform. I didn’t want certain reputations attached to what I was building, and I didn’t want people confusing my personal reactions with the opportunities I was trying to create. So I turned the other cheek. I gave people the benefit of the doubt. I let things slide, and I swallowed a lot of frustration because I didn’t want my feelings about one person to somehow become a reflection of the platform as a whole.

But eventually, you realize that constantly being the bigger person can make people think you’re the person who will always take the bullshit.

And I’m not interested in being that person anymore.

I think that’s also why this whole experience has made me reflect so much on my relationship with the community, especially the dance community. I’ve spent years supporting people. I’ve cheerleaded for people. I’ve taken classes, been on teams, participated in different movements, bought tickets, shared people’s work, shown up, and made myself available. I’ve tried to be someone who contributes to the community instead of just taking from it. And because of that, when you start looking around and realizing that the same energy isn’t necessarily being returned, you can’t help but notice.

I think about 2020 a lot, specifically the Dance For George protest. That wasn’t something I did for attention or to make myself look good. It was about something much bigger than me. And yet, some of the very people who were considered popular within the community weren’t there to support it. That stayed with me because it made me realize that sometimes people are more interested in the man than the message. And unfortunately, I’ve seen enough over the years to recognize that same kind of dynamic showing up in different ways.

I can tell you that I’m warm. I can tell you that I’m understanding and open-minded. I can tell you that I genuinely care about people and want to see them win. I can tell you that I’m willing to work with people and give them opportunities. But eventually, I have to show you, and I have. I’ve spent years showing people through my actions. Which is probably why it’s always been interesting to me that people can have such drastically different opinions of who I am. One person can tell you I’m one of the warmest, most open-hearted people they’ve ever met, while somebody else will tell you I’m a cold-hearted, calculated bitch. And honestly, both can be true.

Because everybody doesn’t get the same version of you.

People get the version of you that their actions create a need for.

For years, I was very intentional about not letting people see that side of me because I was trying to protect the bigger picture. I didn’t want to be perceived as someone who couldn’t separate business from personal feelings, and I didn’t want people to think that working with me meant dealing with drama. But I’m starting to understand that having boundaries doesn’t make you cold, and enforcing an agreement doesn’t make you difficult. Being intentional about who you give your energy to doesn’t make you calculated. Sometimes it just means you’ve learned from your experiences.

And after almost ten years in New York, I think I’m finally allowing myself to acknowledge how much I’ve had to navigate just to get here. I’m not from New York, and I didn’t grow up inside this particular dance ecosystem. I didn’t come into this city with a built-in network of people who already knew me, trusted me, or had a reason to champion what I was doing. I’ve had to build relationships, build a name, build businesses, create platforms, and figure out how to make something out of myself in a city where everybody is trying to do the exact same thing.

There have been plenty of moments where I’ve felt like I had to prove that I belonged in rooms that I had already earned my way into. And when you add people who don’t feel the need to respect you as a person, as a business owner, or as a leader, eventually it changes how you move.

Not because you become bitter, but because you become more discerning.

I’m at a point now where I don’t need everybody to like me, and I don’t even need everybody to understand me. What I do need is to respect myself enough to recognize when somebody has shown me that they don’t respect me. If I respect you, you’ll know it. If I believe in you, you’ll know it. If I want to help you, you’ll know it. But if you show me that you don’t respect me, I’m no longer going to spend my energy trying to convince you that I’m worthy of yours.

And that’s not me being angry. It’s not me holding a grudge, and it’s not me saying I’ll never work with somebody again. It’s simply me paying attention to how people move and allowing their actions to inform how I move with them.

I think that’s the biggest difference for me now. I’m not interested in compromising my boundaries just so everybody can continue believing that I’m nice. I’m not interested in protecting people from the consequences of their own choices, and I’m definitely not interested in continuing to extend grace to people who have shown me that they don’t know what to do with it.

Respect is non-negotiable, especially when that respect has already been shown and given to you.

So I’m still here. Still creating, still dancing, still figuring shit out, still building, and still learning how to be a better leader without abandoning myself in the process. And I’m realizing that sometimes leadership isn’t about being the person everybody loves. Sometimes it’s about being willing to make the decision that nobody else wants you to make because you know it’s the right one for you and for what you’ve built.

At the end of the day, people are going to have their version of me. They always have, and they always will. Some people will experience me as soft, some will experience me as hard. Some will think I’m incredibly understanding, while others will think I’m cold. But I’m finally okay with that, because I know who I am, and I know what I’ve given.

So whether people are ready for it or not, I’m going to continue moving accordingly.

Ready or not.