THE VALLEYS IN HINDSIGHT

          “In this dance company, I need motherfuckers.” Jacques Heim deadpanned at the cattle call of auditionees surrounding his feet. “I need creators and collaborators. I need athletes and acrobats,” he went on slicing every syllable with a knife in his thick French accent. The man looked mad dressed in all black and combat boots, a pair of orange colored lenses stacked on his overgrown peppered hair. “Today, we will test your strength, improvisation, partnering, and potential to fly,” Jacques added, twisting a trio of leather bands around his wrist. I knew as well as anyone in this warehouse that Diavolo was known for their extraordinary dismounts from the peak of their trademark set piece, Trajectoire, a 3,000 lb rocking vessel known to launch performers thirty feet and beyond in the absence of nets or harnesses. Critics didn’t call Jacques’ work the “NFL of Dance” for nothing.

          “We use movement to explore the human condition in relation to its architectural environment. The result of that exploration is the work of Diavolo—Architecture In Motion.” Jacques’ words tumbled out like it was the thousandth time, then a smile bloomed in his eyes. “If you continue to progress through each stage of our audition, please stay for an interview at the end of the day. That is, if you still want this job.” Jacques stood from his chair as he scanned the crowd for weakness, filing away his first round of cuts before he’d ever seen us move.

          With a background in competitive gymnastics and a soon-to-be dance degree from the University of Texas at Austin, I saw my strength and potential intersect in the captivating work of Diavolo. In February of my senior year, I watched the company come alive on stage with the mental rigor of an Olympian, and the beauty of an abstract painting. The first act premiered a towering Rubik’s cube type structure manually manipulated to reveal new orientations from which to flip and fly. In the second act, a wood and metal structure, reminiscent of Noah’s arc, launched performers skyward as the ship thrust into vertical half moons. I left the theater that night with a fierce determination to audition for the unicorn niche of my performing arts dreams. Two months later, I left the Los Angeles audition a finalist, and two days after that, I received a call from Jacques with an invitation to tour with Diavolo to South Korea.

          Having barely shaken my graduation hangover, I boarded the first of three legs to Seoul, then took a crowded bus ride to Gwangyang where our company was set to perform in the summer circus festival. On the second day under the big top, when my brain and my body were of equal exhaustion, Jacques’ voice filled the arena.

          “WELCOME TO BOOTCAMP, ROOKIE!” He stormed the stage from the sound booth, declaring that today I’d be training the Eagle Fly, one of Diavolo’s most crowd-drawing feats off our signature set piece, Trajectoire.

          The last thing I anticipated was winging a death-defying stunt without a single show under my belt, but Jacques’ approach—I was learning—was unapologetically fast-paced. Little did I know my audition and a few rehearsal days was enough of a prerequisite to send me soaring before my first bow. Working for Jacques meant operating outside my comfort zone— a place I’d only glimpsed since stepping foot into the Diavolo space last month. Ready or not, it was go time.

          After what felt like a truncated version of Diavolo’s training protocol, I mounted Trajectoire. Her force kicked into lateral motion as the cast dispersed into a methodical pattern that dictated our rhythm and speed. I clutched the stage right panel of the boat and found my spot on a light can high in the rafters, just like I’d been coached. Maintaining my upward gaze, I sensed a trio of dancers climbing like unified geckos across the slanting surface of the ship in my periphery, then pounce together opposite my perch. I teetered back and fourth with enormous force, baby hairs tickling my brows through the gust. Again I rode the speeding wind tunnel to the top, this time hearing a loud and clear “SET!” called form my catchers below— my indication that they were ready to catch me. I took my final exhale, releasing all my air as my side of the seesaw fell from the summit, then braced myself to launch at the next crest.

          You'd be right to assume my first attempt at the Eagle fly was a poorly timed sideways bullet that ended with me and my catchers in a pile of limbs on the marley floor. I barely had time to thank the guys for shuffling well out of their way to save my life before Jacques encouraged me to redeem myself. The Korean tour continued to live up to the most extreme month of my life. Twenty-two shows in twenty- five days was the least of it. I did it all with thigh size bruises, broken fingers and ribs— all lovely souvenirs from baby’s first bootcamp.

          Back in LA, Jacques continued to pick me apart in whatever new role I was learning. He delighted in seeing me cook under pressure, doused in his signature sauce of high volume expletives. I spent most rehearsals suppressing tears until I could let them spill on the phone with my mom at lunch breaks, just out of earshot from the well-adjusted portion of our cast. They sat eating and relaxing. I went to therapy outside on the curb.

          It probably took my mom every bit of restraint not to tell me to quit. Not to tell me to please evacuate the sketchy Echo Park apartment I’d been renting with bars on the windows and a neighboring Super 8. That the immeasurable stress I was under wasn’t worth it, and to please come home. But I was the victim of supportive parents who likely didn’t want to live with the guilt of talking me out of my dreams, so I stayed.

          Even if I didn’t believe Jacques’ particular brand of training was best suited for my learning, I knew this was his way of getting the most out of me. The turning point came when we premiered our newest piece, Fluid Infinities, at The Hollywood Bowl in September of 2013. Jacques pulled me into the wings before the show to tell me how beautifully I’d grown into my role then earnestly thanked me for my work. His words felt like the affirmation I needed to step into my confidence as a performer, changing everything from there on out.

          Over my five seasons with Diavolo, I broke women’s company strength records and became the highest flying front flip off the nose of Trajectoire. They still say my Eagle flies were some of the most consistent, which I am under the impression was a compliment. I got starring solos and featured duets, and collaborated to choreograph seven new company works. But best of all, I mentored countless dancers that came after me. I like to believe my vulnerable overshares exposing the struggle of my first season gave them the motivation to persevere in the same way Jacques’ words did for me before the Bowl.

          Finally, I took my last bow with Diavolo on Season 12 of America’s Got Talent where we placed in the Top 10. I wouldn’t say my professional dance career came without a fight, but the valleys of the process gave me hindsight to know it was worth it.