This past weekend, I had the opportunity to attend the International Association of Blacks in Dance Conference here in Atlanta, Georgia.
And I didn’t leave with a five-year plan.
I left with questions.
This is not a recap of classes taken or performances watched. It’s not a review. It’s not a highlight reel.
It’s a reflection.
Because I walked into this conference carrying something heavy, and I walked out carrying something different.
The Question I Brought With Me
If I’m honest, I went into the conference feeling uninspired.
Not disconnected from dance completely, I still teach, I still advocate, I still coordinate programs — but disconnected from myself as an artist.
Since the birth of my daughter in 2020 and my son in 2024, things paused. Not dramatically. Not resentfully. Just naturally.
My energy shifted to my family.
I continued teaching. I continued doing administrative and advocacy work. But networking for myself? Showing up as an artist for myself? Actively participating in the broader dance world?
That part of me went quiet.
So walking into IABD, the question sitting in my chest was simple:
Where do I go from here?
I’m at this intersection of wifehood, motherhood, and womanhood — trying to understand how dance fits into this version of me.
You Don’t Have to Have It All Figured Out
One of the most unexpected gifts of this conference was the reminder that I am not supposed to have everything figured out in my 30s.
Somehow, especially as millennials, we convince ourselves that by mid-30s we should have clarity. Direction. Certainty.
But throughout those three to four days, I encountered women — elders in every sense of the word — who gently but firmly reminded me that life is about transition.
About evolution.
About enjoying the journey instead of rushing toward a destination.
And when I say elders, I don’t just mean legends (though there were many). I mean dance mothers. Dance grandmothers. Women who have lived full lives in and around dance — women who have navigated careers, families, pivots, sacrifices.
They listened.
They poured into me.
They shared their stories openly — the wins, the detours, the reinventions.
And what I learned from them is that dance does not exist in a vacuum. It lives inside real lives.
A Space That Felt Like Belonging
I have attended other conferences, including NDEO. While I gained valuable information there, I did not experience connection the same way.
At IABD, networking felt easy.
Natural.
Second nature.
Maybe it was because the room was full of Black dancers and I am a Black dancer. Maybe it was the immediate sense of shared understanding. Maybe it was the theme of “family reunion.”
But it genuinely felt like a family reunion.
I saw people from the Atlanta dance community that I hadn’t nurtured relationships with in years. I saw former colleagues. I reconnected with people I deeply admire.
I even saw my old roommate from Dayton Contemporary Dance Company. We danced together in second company. She’s still dancing professionally. We grabbed dinner with another friend from that season of life, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed.
I ran into one of my very first ballet and jazz teachers. I saw Mr. Milton, who taught me modern and African dance when I was little. I saw my undergraduate professors — and for the first time, I got to thank them from the other side.
To tell them that their pouring into me mattered.
That their work shaped my path as an educator, advocate, and administrator.
Those moments mattered.
The Weight of Proximity
There is something powerful about proximity.
At IABD, you are literally brushing shoulders with living history.
While people fan-girl over Beyoncé, I found myself quietly fan-girling over Lauren Anderson, Lydia Barka Mitchell, Joe Meyers Brown, Cleo Parker Robinson, Lula Washington, and so many others.
You are standing feet away from the shoulders you stand on.
The people who did the work.
Who made the sacrifices.
Who built institutions.
Who carved pathways.
There is weight in that.
And gratitude.
The Full Spectrum of Black Dance
One of the most beautiful parts of the conference was seeing the full spectrum of Black dance.
Black dance is not a genre.
It is not a box.
It is not a category.
It is multi-faceted.
Second line.
SOCA.
Afro-Caribbean.
Dunham.
Horton.
Hip-hop.
Commercial jazz.
Ballet.
Gyrokinesis.
Arts administration.
Archival work.
Documentaries.
Education.
Every facet of the dance world was present — and presented by Black people.
Even the Rockettes were in the building.
It was a reminder that we cannot be reduced.
Rediscovering My Own Lineage
One of the most unexpected moments came when I told my mom about one of the honorees, Miss Briggs.
My mom casually said, “You know she knew your grandmother. We used to go to pool parties at her house.”
That connection led back to the children’s dance program at Spelman College — a program I was part of in the ’90s.
At the time, I didn’t understand how influential that work was.
Now I do.
Many dancers currently working in the industry came through that program.
That realization shifted something in me.
Because suddenly this wasn’t just about conferences and networking. It was about lineage.
It was about what I pass on to my daughter.
And maybe my son.
It was about understanding that when we are in our silos — our studios — we don’t always see how connected we are to something bigger.
This conference reminded me.
A Homecoming
The last time I attended an IABD conference, I was about 10 or 11 years old in San Diego.
Returning now, as a wife, a mother, an educator — it felt like a homecoming.
I walked in unsure.
Wondering if it was time to move on.
Questioning where dance fits in this season of life.
I am not leaving with clear answers.
But I am leaving with a full cup.
I don’t know exactly what my north star is yet.
But I feel a pull.
And before this conference, I didn’t.
Dance Doesn’t Stop. It Transforms.
Absolutely. Since this is going at the end of an already written reflective post, I tightened it up so it feels like a natural closing expansion — not repetitive, not heavy, just connected and intentional.
Here’s a shortened, WordPress-ready version:
Why IABD Matters Beyond the Festival
As I left the conference, I kept thinking about how IABD is more than just a gathering — it’s a reminder.
A reminder that culture and history cannot be separated from dance. I explored that idea in Bad Bunny, the Super Bowl, and America’s Complicated Relationship with Culture — and being in those rooms at IABD made that truth feel even more real. The technique, the lineage, the scholarship — it all lives within the African diaspora. And it deserves to be honored fully.
I also couldn’t help but think about the young dancers in attendance. Conferences like this open eyes to what is possible. For some, that path may lead to education. If teaching is on your heart, I’ve shared practical steps in How to Become a Dance Teacher — because building the next generation is legacy work.
For others, the stage still calls. And IABD proves that there are more performance pathways than many dancers realize. I break down several of those routes in Career Choices for Dancers on Stage — because Black dancers have never been confined to one lane.
IABD holds space for all of it.
Performance. Education. Leadership. Infrastructure.
And that, more than anything, is why it matters.
If there is one thing I am taking away, it is this:
Dance does not stop because you become a wife.
It does not stop because you become a mother.
It transforms.
And I am excited — genuinely excited — to discover what that transformation looks like for me.
Chicago 2027, I’ll see you there.
If you’ve ever felt unsure of your place in the dance world…
If you’ve ever wondered how your artistry fits into adulthood, family, or evolution…
You’re not alone.
And maybe we’re not meant to have it all figured out just yet.
Happy Dancing!
Taylor B.
