To Be Everything: Why I Committed to Being a Dancer
As a child, I remember vividly the desire to be everything.
Not someone in particular—but everyone, and even more than that. I wanted to be a magician and a scientist, a wild animal and a philosopher, a singer, a soldier, a wind, a mountain, a god. This was not ambition in the adult sense of achievement. It was a kind of existential yearning, a feeling that everything was possible, that life offered an endless horizon of becoming.
This desire—so intense, so primal—never really left me.
As humans, we are living beings of possibility.
Martin Heidegger described us as “beings toward possibility,” creatures who don’t merely exist, but continually project ourselves into futures, identities, and meanings. We live not as fixed things, but as questions always reaching toward an answer.
We want to be everything because, deep down, we sense that we could be.
But then we learn: time is finite. We will die.
This truth imposes a cruel limit. It means we cannot become everything. We have to choose. Each path we follow closes others. Each identity we assume excludes infinite others. This is where fantasy ends and freedom begins—not in having infinite options, but in choosing one path and living it fully.
And yet… there is one path that, for me, comes closest to fulfilling that childhood dream.
That path is dance.
Dance: The Art of Becoming
When I dance, I feel I touch the edge of everything I once longed to be. Dance is not simply movement or performance—it is a total embodiment of life. It is history, culture, music, emotion, discipline, instinct, and beauty converging in a single moment.
In dance, I become rhythm, I become story, I become connection. I express rage and tenderness, solitude and unity. I inhabit centuries of tradition and make them immediate, personal, alive. I am both myself and something far larger.
No other art form has ever made me feel so utterly present—yet so timeless.
The Limit and the Liberation
The Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges, in his story “El inmortal”, explores what it would mean to live forever. Paradoxically, he shows that immortality might erase our identity. When time is endless, there is no urgency, no choice, no meaning. To be everything forever is, perhaps, to be nothing in particular at all.
Our mortality, then, is not just a curse—it is a gift. It forces us to act, to commit, to choose. And in choosing dance, I gave form to my infinite childhood desire. I could not become everything—but I could live a life that contains multitudes, that speaks in a language beyond words, that transforms every gesture into meaning.
Why I Committed
That is why I committed to being a dancer.
Not because it was easy. Not because it was safe. But because in dance, I feel I am living as fully and honestly as I can. Because it is the closest I have found to being everything—even within the graceful limits of time.
If you’ve ever felt the same desire—if you’ve ever longed to express something beyond speech, to live more deeply in your body, to touch the infinite through the finite—then maybe dance is calling you, too.
And if it is, I hope you listen.
Could Tango be the closest way to be everything?
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