I'll Go to It Dancing
2,000 days, 1,635 Zoom calls, and the courage to change
Dear Kula Diaries,
On June 23rd, I hit an interesting (to me) personal milestone: 2,000 days of consecutive dancing.
Keep in mind that I’m the type of person who gets excited when my odometer clicks over to a number like 14,141. Just the other day, my odometer clicked over to 101,010 … and I basically freaked out on my commute to work. I always say to my husband, “Look at this!! This will literally never happen, ever again! Isn’t that incredible? How amazing that I got to watch it happen!”. And when my motorcycle hit 10,000 miles, I actually yelped so loudly with excitement that my husband thought something had happened to me (in retrospect, I need to chill out a little bit while operating a two-wheeled vehicle — ha!). So, I understand that hitting 2,000 days of consecutive dancing is much more of a me fascination than it is anything else. After all, we only ever have just this one day to dance. In fact, just this one moment right now. Every single moment — whether it’s clicking over to 101010 or not… is miraculously unique… every. single. time.
When I started dancing on January 1st, 2021, I never imagined that in 2026 I’d still be dancing, and that I would never have missed a day. Not one single day. And mind you, there were some days in there that I really wanted to skip. Days when I told myself that I didn’t deserve to dance. Days when I told myself I didn’t feel like dancing. Days when I told myself that this entire endeavor was (honestly) stupid and unnecessary. And yet… even on those days… the joy in my heart that I felt when I danced no matter what was going on in my life, urged me on. And I’ve always been glad I included it in my day.
As I’ve continued my dance experiment through many different seasons of life, it has brought me closer and closer to the truth of what I didn’t know I would discover when I started. In fact, when I first started, the Dance Experiment was more of a question than an answer: What happens if you dance every single day?
When I started my experiment, it was a joke. Then it morphed into something that was fun or funny. Then it became a skill I wanted to try to learn. Then it was more about fitness and exercise.
Here’s a video I made a few years ago talking about the origin of the Dance Experiment:
But as I continued, and as life continued, and as I started to dance through the ever-changing tides of life, I realized that on days that I would classify as ‘good’, I danced. On days that I would classify as ‘bad’, I danced. And it felt important on all of those days—not just on the days when things were going perfectly or on the days when I needed it most. It was just always there, reminding me that every day deserves dancing.
An undercurrent of peace and an inner cultivation of joy come not from anywhere else, but from within me… from within each of us. It’s easy to blame external circumstances for how we are feeling, and when we do that, we strip ourselves of the power to feel the way that we want to be feeling — and we also strip ourselves of the ability to embrace the ‘is-ness’ of life. Some days ARE tough. Some days ARE exhausting. Some tasks ARE boring. Sometimes we ARE angry. The canvas of life is ours to paint — and denying ourselves this experience is to deny the essence of life itself. So, instead of running away from things that we don’t want — we embrace them… we dance through them. As Eckart Tolle says, ‘Life is the dancer, and you are the dance.'
Earlier this month, I made a decision that will probably always break my heart in a small way. I made the impossibly difficult decision to end our ‘structured’ daily group Dance Experiment.
Since January 9th, 2022, my company Kula Cloth has been hosting a daily call on Zoom. Over the years, thousands of people have joined us for our daily dance sessions. For the number nerds out there, on July 1st 2026 (this coming Wednesday), our last day of consecutive sessions, we will have hosted 1,635 Zoom calls as a group.
The decision to end this program did not come lightly, but the truth is that with my increased responsibilities as the founder of a gear company—which I didn’t have all of in 2022 when the program started—attempting to coordinate, schedule, and lead a structured program has gotten much more stressful. Leading 8–12 Zoom calls per month is taking its toll on me physically and mentally. In addition, the program is donation-based and always has been. Over the past year, it has been costing approximately $600–$800 per month to host because it wasn’t bringing in enough donations to sustain the cost of paying the Joy Facilitators who help lead the calls.
While I would love to say that the Dance Experiment is self-sustaining, and that I have somebody who can coordinate it and facilitate it for me so that I can continue to be a part of it without having to do the administrative side of it, that simply isn’t the case. If I throw all of my time and attention into ‘promoting’ the dance program, just to keep it sustainable, it takes away attention from Kula Cloth, where I have (many) people depending on me to keep the company successful and viable. Attempting to recruit more folks to join the program just added another layer of work that I am simply unable to manage at this time. From where I sit now, I love to envision a future when somebody is running the day-to-day operations of Kula Cloth, so that I can focus more on my creative pursuits — the Dance Experiment program would be the first to return, without question.
I’m a self-proclaimed workaholic, because ‘work’ for me feels more like a hobby, and something that I love with all of my heart. But, it does take its toll if I don’t get a break. I’m really focusing on limiting my commitments and prioritizing my mental and physical health, as recently I’ve felt overwhelmed and realized that this just wasn’t sustainable.
I feel a crushing sense of guilt from making this decision. There’s a part of me that feels selfish, as in, who am I to take this away from people based on money or time? What we’ve created with the Dance Experiment is a real community, and it feels as though it rests on my shoulders and that I’m ‘ruining’ it for everybody.
I know that’s not the case, and people have assured me that it’s not the case. But it doesn’t take away the feeling or the guilt or the fear of letting people down. And especially when you love something so much, there is going to be pain and loss and grieving… and I’m not going to pretend that it any part of this is ‘easy’ for me. The people I’ve met through this program are very real friends that I care about very much — and that is something that will not change.
Our last session takes place on Wednesday, July 1st, 2026… and as it approaches, I feel like it’s a train on the tracks nearing its last stop and knowing that I’m going to have to get off, even though a part of me doesn’t want to. And yet when I sense into that overwhelm that I feel on the weeks when I’m trying to juggle way too many balls (and by the way, I don’t know how to juggle), I also feel that it is the right move. I feel a sense of peace and creativity in imagining what might bloom next … what new life will arise from the ripples of love that we have created over the past 4+ years.
As I’ve contemplated these last few days of my beloved group Dance Experiment… and as I have tried to (genuinely) assess my own personal health and wellbeing, I’ve come to a startling realization: maybe all along, Spock was wrong.
There’s a famous scene in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan… Near the end of the movie, the starship Enterprise is badly damaged during its battle with Khan. The ship’s warp drive has been crippled, and a radiation-filled chamber must be entered manually to repair it. Knowing that entering the chamber will be fatal, Spock quietly chooses to do it himself.
He restores power to the ship, saving the crew, but receives a lethal dose of radiation in the process. As he is dying, he speaks with Captain James T. Kirk through a glass barrier. When Kirk tells him he shouldn’t have sacrificed himself, Spock replies (famously):
“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few... or the one.”
And while (obviously) Spock’s sacrifice was heroic… the sentiment itself isn’t entirely accurate. As a person who will go to the ends of the earth (at my own expense) to help somebody else out… I know that, ultimately, this can sometimes actually prevent us from helping others. Because if the ‘needs of the one’ are neglected, then ‘the one’ cannot do the things that they were meant to do. Namely — if we are burned out, none of us will have the capacity or energy to do the things that bring meaning into the world.
For me, dance is a part of the meaning that I bring into this world, and I don’t want that to end. So, I’m trying to look at this change as simply that—a change. A transition to something new. An opportunity for something even better to bloom. A new way to connect more deeply with myself so that I can continue to bring something good to others. I’ve realized something very important: burned-out Anastasia doesn’t bring much to others except more burnout and exhaustion.
And I know that the endlessly creative version of me (and all of us), who is excited and full of life, is capable of some pretty amazing things. In fact, that’s how the Dance Experiment was born: simply from me being me, having fun, and doing something that felt interesting. It was never meant to be a business. It was simply meant as a vessel for joy.
And joy it has created. Over the years, it has brought joy into thousands of people’s lives all over the world. As a group, we have navigated life and death and grief and joy and everything in between. Our members have had impromptu meet ups in person, and real friendships have bloomed from a place that we created. It’s been a pretty special experience—one that I didn’t expect and one that I will cherish for my entire life. As it turns out, The Dance Experiment was never about a singular goal or arbitrary number — it was never about arriving at some, ‘final destination’ — instead, it has always been about seeing what happens next, and, most importantly …this moment right now: What can we do right now to cultivate love within our own heart… and to bring that to others? The idea of an ending is simply that — an idea. But we live in an infinite universe where we can choose to dance in any moment of any day. We can continue to choose to share that with the people we care about, whether it involves registering on Eventbrite or not.
As for me, I won’t stop dancing.
Two thousand days is, if I’m being honest, just another day. Another day, another chance to dance simply for the joy of existence on this planet. A chance to accept myself exactly as I am. A chance to feel the feelings of loss that are only present when one has loved so greatly.
To incorrectly paraphrase Herman Melville: I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it may, I’ll go to it dancing.
I’ll end today with a poem (fittingly) written by Leonard Nimoy (the actor who played Spock in Star Trek, for anybody who isn’t familiar with him):
I may not be
I may not be
I may not be the fastest
I may not be the tallest
Or the strongest
I may not be the best
Or the brightest
But one thing I can do better
Than anyone else...
That is
To be meThanks to everybody who has cheered me on over the years with my personal dancing. And, more importantly, thanks to everybody who makes the Dance Experiment what it continues to be to this day: a collective expression of love and life. Thank you for allowing me to be me… and I hope that dance has given you the same permission to be exactly who YOU are. Together, we can love each other where we are — no matter what.
Whether we’re on a Zoom call or not at 6:30 in the morning, we are always, always, first and foremost, dancing together in this life, forever connected by the joy and love we’ve created over the past five years.
The Dance Experiment did what it was intended to do. It made us feel better and happier. What a remarkable accomplishment! The Kula Community is strong and will continue💜love you sweetheart!