A lot of interviews, much reflection...

There are years that pass with a kind of predictable rhythm—and then there are years like this one. This year has been defined by contrast. Unexpected highs arrived without warning: recognition, awards, invitations into rooms I had not necessarily imagined entering. I’ve been approached for leadership roles beyond my current post, and with that has come a deeper, more urgent question—what does it truly mean to be a leader in the arts right now? Because right now is not simple.

The economy feels uncertain in a way that is both ambient and deeply personal. Consumer trends shift faster than we can respond. Audiences are harder to predict, harder to reach, and sometimes harder to convince that what we do matters in the way it once seemed to. And yet, the work must go on. It must resonate—often against incredible odds.

Over the past year, I’ve spent a great deal of time listening. Colleagues from different organizations have shared their realities with me—sometimes candidly, sometimes cautiously. I’ve interviewed hundreds of applicants for both administrative and dancer positions, each conversation offering a small window into how people are thinking about work, purpose, and survival in this field. And in all of it, I’ve been trying to piece together what this year has actually taught me.

One lesson continues to surface: communication is eroding in our workplaces. It is easier, somehow, to be adversarial than allied. In many ways, that mirrors the world at large—it’s trendier, more immediate, more emotionally charged. But when poor communication becomes normalized—when it becomes the default—it doesn’t just reflect external pressures. It reveals something internal.

Toxicity is not one-directional. It moves up and down the ladder. It lives in the quiet room that doesn’t respond to a simple “good morning.” It lives in the absence of appreciation, in the lack of curiosity about each another’s circumstances, in assumptions that default to the worst rather than extend grace. It shows up in expectations that ignore the complexity of growth, and in the failure to acknowledge the gains that are being made. And those gains matter.

Because behind the scenes, leaders are carrying more than ever. In nonprofits—and especially in dance—leaders are burning out at a rate that feels unsustainable. The lifespan of artistic leadership has shortened dramatically since 2020. Since then, the stakes feel even higher: the work has to connect, immediately and meaningfully, in a landscape that is increasingly fragmented.

We are navigating funding cuts, shrinking audiences, rapidly shifting cultural consumption, and the ever-present tension between digital access and live attendance. The barriers are real, and they are constant. There are moments when you realize you may never fully know the people you work with, or for, or truly be able to predict the needs of your audience. That alignment is partial. That understanding is incomplete. That the weight of the mission is yours to carry, regardless of whether it is fully seen or shared. And yet, the work continues.

Because as directors, we have to believe in its importance—even when that belief is not echoed back to us. If the lights are on, if contracts are improving, if repertory is growing, if disasters are being averted day after day, and if growth is measurable and consistent—then something meaningful is happening, even if it goes largely unacknowledged. Often, it simply “gets done.” And there is very little infrastructure—emotionally or institutionally—to support the people ensuring that it does.

Directors don’t talk about this much. Perhaps because there isn’t time. Perhaps because there isn’t space. Or perhaps because acknowledging it feels like admitting vulnerability in a role that demands steadiness above all else. But the question remains: in a world that feels increasingly fractured, what can dance do?

What can dancers, educators, and directors do—not just to survive, but to heal their own discourse? To rebuild trust within their organizations? To draw people back to the art form—not just as consumers, but as participants in something shared and human?

There is no single answer.

This year has shown me that leadership is not just about vision or output. It is about endurance. It is about quiet conviction. It is about continuing to carry a mission forward, thoughtfully and intentionally, even when the path is unclear and the support is uneven.

It is, in many ways, an act of faith. And maybe that is what makes this work—despite everything—a worthy effort.