To Thine Own Self Be True

On his deathbed, Judith Jamison's father told her to "be good." The acclaimed dancer and choreographer believes upholding her father's dying wish means she must be open, honest and true to herself.


Welcome to This I believe, an NPR series presenting the personal philosophies of remarkable men and women from all walks of life. Support for NPR Podcasts comes from Visa, offering the visa signature card featuring concierge services for travel, dinning and entertainment, at visasignature.com

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This I believe.

For our series, This I Believe, we hear today from Judith Jamison, the artistic director of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. Jamison grew up in Philadelphia, began dancing when she was six years old. Her father said she was so hyperactive, he thought maybe she'd dance some of it off. In 2001, she was awarded the National Medal of Arts. Here's our series curator, independent producer Jay Allison.

Judith Jamison said that from the minute she first walked into a dance class, she understood the space was sacred and precious. It is in the rehearsal studio that she most actively lives her belief. And it was in her studio on 55th Street in Manhattan that we recorded her. Here is Judith Jamison with her essay for "This I believe".

I believe that there is sanctity in the fact that we are only on this earth for a short period of time. And I believe that with that time, we'd better be doing something good. That was the last thing my father said before he died. Be good. That was it.

In my life and work, I've found that honesty comes with goodness. My mother used to say and she was quoting Shakespeare, "This above all: To thine own self be true". And in the rehearsal studio, I strive to be as true to myself as I possibly can. For me, the studio is a hallowed ground, where the realities of self and spirit are revealed. There is a sense that I'm breathing rarified air, special and pure like on Mount Everest. And in the studio, on this higher ground, we’re unified in purpose. Everyone in the room is vulnerable.

I've been a dancer, I've been a choreographer. I know what it's like on both sides. The dancer surrenders to the choreographer, and the choreographer to the dancer. We shed layers of needless emotions. The camouflage disappears to reveal the innocence and honesty of the child within us all, and in each other's arms when the dancer and the choreographer surrender together, anything is possible.

A dancer can have all the right physical moves, but that does not mean they'll knock your socks off. They have to find their truth in what they want to say and show us who they are as a person.

Once, I had a dancer who was a beautiful dancer with a gorgeous body. But I couldn't get him to express himself. He had to go further. He had to tell me his journey, his emotional center, but he wouldn't. One time we were in rehearsal, he had a five-minute solo. He did it once, he was breathing hard. I said do it again. The second time, he was so exhausted that he had no choice. He had to go deeper. He was honest, he arrived. It was exquisite.

As dancers, we need to bring our life experiences to the stage. We don't just want to thrill an audience with how many turns we can do, or how high we can jump or raise our legs. Plenty of people can do that with practice. We need to share our truth. When a performance stands out, it's not just the arms and legs that stay in your mind. What you remember is the feeling you get from the performance. And that feeling comes from the dancers' expression of self.

A good performance on stage should take the audiences on a journey where they learn something about themselves. It's about all of us. It's about reaching for perfection. And most of all, it's about honesty. I believe that to be good, as my father instructed, we must be true to ourselves.

Judith Jamison with her essay for This I believe. Jamison says she's always been a church-going person, but for her, spiritual experiences also occur when the curtain goes up. If you would like to send us an essay, or read the others' in our series, visit NPR.org. For This I believe, I'm Jay Allison.

Next Monday on Morning Edition, an essay from listener Christine Cleary of Massachusetts on her belief in the importance of memory.

This I Believe is produced for NPR by This I Believe Incorporated at Atlanta Public Media. For more essays in the series, please visit NPR.org/thisibelieve.

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