TYLER QUINCY YAN

Breaking the Rhythm: Rediscovering Myself Beyond Dance

Dance changed me, but having to stop dancing changed me the most.

I didn’t grow up dancing—except for maybe a couple of K-pop covers in my basement, but that’s it, I swear. I was always interested in dance because it looked cool, but there weren’t many accessible opportunities in my hometown. So, I stuck to video games.

At university, I joined a street dance crew, mostly because my friends were there. This one decision sparked my love for dance, which would become my defining trait for years to come.

Dance felt like a win-win situation: I experienced joy while training and developing new combos, the exploration of new movements across different styles felt endless, and the built-in social connections meant I didn’t need to look elsewhere for friendships. In a short time—and fully recognizing the cliché of this journey—dance helped me find my voice. It gave me the confidence to trust in myself in all areas of life because I realized that only I defined who I was and how I wanted to be seen;

I had the control and ability to express myself authentically.

It became the perfect balance to my education—both academic and artistic outlets offering an escape from each other. When school got tough, dance was there as a release. When I hit a wall with dance, I could return to academic responsibilities. There was always something to work toward, and it felt like perpetual growth rather than work.

In 2021, I moved to Toronto for law school. At the same time, I was lucky to encounter many professional dance opportunities. Somehow, I began a journey in two careers: law and dance. I didn’t really know exactly what I wanted to do in either, but my instinct was always to keep working—to keep chasing that elusive goal post.

It felt like a dream—law school was challenging, but I could effect real social change; dance was my joy, my passion, and now something I was paid for. And when things are going well, you don’t question if everything you’re doing is right for you.

Every new opportunity feels like a worthy one because it’s new.

Every opportunity you decline feels like a missed chance for growth.

In my head, my proverbial cup was being filled.
In reality, I was overflowing, full of holes.

Before I knew it, my love for dance was replaced with a need to create—no desire, just necessity. And for me, that was fatal.

In early 2024, I had what could best be described as a nervous breakdown, and my life came to a halt. After years of non-stop action, I was forced to pause and reflect on everything that had led me to this point of physical and emotional exhaustion. I took a break from law school. But more importantly, I couldn’t continue dancing. I felt like I’d lost the thing that gave me confidence, my voice, my identity—I’d lost what I thought gave me meaning.

And yet, I was still here. And yet, the world kept turning.

To spare the gritty details, the journey to recover my physical and mental health began. Eventually, I returned to law and dance with a new sense of purpose. A sentiment I’ve often shared, but one that rings truer than ever: just because something is a good opportunity for someone, doesn’t mean that someone has to be you.

The most healing came from realizing I don’t need to be the perfect person for every situation, job, or role. Now, I embrace my individuality in simple ways—recognizing the many things that make me who I am: I love video games, I love eating mild Thai food, I love my cat, I love sitting quietly with friends, I love dance, I’m a lawyer, and I’m also just someone who enjoys creating. Any of these things can (and will) change—maybe I’ll build up my spice tolerance one day—but life will keep moving forward, and so will we, because we always do.

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