*originally published on the Parental Choreography blog on Haaretz.co.il by Ori Lenkinski

A while back, a friend told me of a confounding experience she had with her son. She took him for pizza at a place they frequent the night before. Usually, her child happily gobbles up his pizza, has a short play in the park next door and goes home ready for a peaceful bath and early bedtime. That evening, however, he threw the pizza on the floor, screamed at her that he wanted something else, refused to exit his stroller at the park and was so overwhelmed that he missed his bath and fell asleep in his clothes.

I immediately thought back on a tricky movement I had watched two students toiling over during a rehearsal a week earlier.

In it, one dancer passes her leg from in front of her to behind her (this is called a rond-de-jamb) while holding the hand of the other dancer. When her leg arrives in an arabesque, the second dancer uses the connection between their hands to push the first into a turn. The movement requires a combination of tension, synchronized timing and release at just the right moment. The two dancers tried over and again but something wasn’t working.

As they continued to struggle with the mechanics of the movement, they became increasingly frustrated. It had worked once before, why wasn’t it working now? Each time they would begin, one of them would feel that something was off and would stop.

We began to discuss what the point of rehearsing movements is, and it was a conversation that illuminated a common misconception about rehearsal.

Many believe that what we do in rehearsal is nail down the exact way in which each and every movement, interaction, exchange is done so that, during the show, we will be able to do it perfectly. A machine of perfectly executed steps.

In fact, this is the opposite of what I believe we are trying to accomplish in rehearsal.

In live performance, every show is different. Every body is in a slightly different configuration each day, each person is in a unique mood during the show and there are all of the outside stimuli and conditions that influence the way things feel. A cold day can lead to a stiff performance and a sweltering day can garner a droopy one. Because dance is a form resting on the living body, not machines, it has to be infinitely flexible. It has to consider that no two days are the same and, as such, no two shows can be identical. What works one day won’t work the next.

The stage is the ultimate make-it-work situation. No matter what happens, if you forget something, lose your balance, misplace a prop or miss a cue the show goes on. (In my life, I have only seen one show that was stopped in the middle due to injury).

This means that the goal of rehearsal is not to prepare for one version of a show but to prepare for a wide range of possibilities. We do the same movement over and over to ensure that, no matter what happens, if a leg is slightly bent or hands gripped slightly differently, we will succeed in executing the choreography.

The more flexible and open we are to change; the less mishaps occur in the show.

Parenting is often described as a dance, and not for nothing. We prance through our days with our kids, trying to be fun yet firm, decisive yet flexible, loving and strong. This can often feel like one of those dance marathons, where the last, exhausted couple standing wins. So many times, in my parenting history, I have been shocked to discover that a maneuver that worked just days before no longer held water. Bedtime tactics shift, foods that were hits suddenly get pushed aside, outings that were fun are suddenly disastrous.

And, as in dance, the more we call roll with the punches, the better off we are. If we expect things to always work in the same way, we will be constantly frustrated. But, if we approach our life with children as a fluid, shifting dance and practice maximum flexibility, we are more likely to be able to make it work no matter what the day brings.