I am a dancer. And there’s a lot you can discern about me as a human based on my personality in dance.

With that I mean that in the same way that I strive for control and balance in my movement, so do I have the same tendencies in my life. There are some modern dancers that find a striking abandonment in their movement. These dancers let their power explode and sometimes manage to find their feet and create something overwhelming for themselves. But sometimes they don’t find balance and connectivity and because of that lose the beauty of their movement entirely. Me—I’m not this way. I’m a perfectionist; I spend most of my time in the studio exceptionally balanced and centered. I find harmony in my body and maintain a sense of calm. I can feel my possibility for explosive power without actually acting on it. And this is where I both thrive and fall short.

I reiterate that my personality in dance is very indicative of my personality in life as well. And through this, you can understand when I say that finding harmony and balance is exceptional unless it leads to forgetting to let free and abandon sometimes. In life and in dance I have a problem with trusting a control that isn’t my own. While it’s beautiful to hone my abilities in dance and find perfect poise, the true beauty lies in trusting other forces and finding a sense of abandon in movement. In that, I mean pushing the boundaries of me. I mean allowing my explosive powers to take over and lead me into moments of falling. Then having the trust that I will catch myself. And when I do catch myself—it’s surprising and it’s sensational.

But let me backtrack. Backtrack to the moment I realized this. Because just like in life, it takes a moment that tests your faith in order to realize whether you truly trust someone—including yourself.

The moment happened during an improvisational class. The improvisation started in a very reflective and intuitive way of moving. I felt great; I loved improvising because it’s simply dancing in the way that feels best in my bones. It’s like being told to write a paper about any topic you’d like—you would enjoy and connect to the writing much more than if the topic was imposed onto you.

And so in that same way, I felt happy and connected to move and groove the way that was most comfortable and pleasurable for me. And as I was getting both warm and tired, my muscles began to loosen up and my mind followed suit. We had been dancing long and ceaselessly and my thoughts stopped running. I began to move with such freedom and abandonment that I could not recognize my motion anymore. It was no longer calculated and thought out, but just loose and open. And that’s when Mats saw my worn and tired movement and began to make his way over to me.

Now keep in mind, Mats is a tall, gorgeous, confident, strong and intense male dancer. He’s spent his years of dancing in Amsterdam being endorsed with attention. He knows his own strength and so has the total confidence to take the lead as a male dancer and create beautiful movement for himself and those around him.

And so he made his way over to me, a petite, perfectionist dancer, and swooped me off my feet. Normally, I’d dismiss another dancer’s heed for control and initiate the partnered movement under my own control. I tend to think a lot, and so I have ideas in my head as to where the movement will end up even as it is being improvised.

But that day was different. It was just the perfect mix of things. The fact that my muscles were so warm I could bend and fly without feeling an ounce of strain. The fact that I had already reached a point of abandonment and unrestraint. The fact that Mats was and is a beautiful dancer and human who I felt lucky to share a moment of connection with. And maybe, just a bit, the fact that I was handsomely in love with him and trusted him wholeheartedly in my real life—and I reiterate that life translates into dance entirely.

And so when he came over, I let him lift me up and spin me around. I let my body be totally loose and free so that my body was not my own but an extension of him. And I abandoned all sense of control, placing my trust in his arms. Next thing I know, I was flying through the air. Mats caught me every time. He twirled me. He moved my body into forms and essences that had never taken place within me. I bent and flew and soared off with Mats—my movement entirely under his dictation.

When it had been too much to emotionally bear, I separated from Mats, stepped outside of the room, and gasped a breath of fresh air. I couldn’t comprehend myself. Still tingling with sensation, I felt the impact of the dance I just had. I replayed in my flesh the feeling of flying—of freedom. I felt changed. I felt used, thrown around, forced out of my control: in an orgasmic way. Nothing compares to that sensation of total trust and abandonment. It leads to revelation and ecstasy. Something I couldn’t have found by doing only what’s natural and balanced.

So there’s that aha moment; sometimes it takes abandonment and trust to reach an unexplored dimension. To do something outside of yourself—outside of your comfort—you have to take risks and have faith in others and in yourself. I realized that dance isn’t about reaching balance and perfection, but about also letting yourself totally go in blind faith. And dance is a truthful indication of life.