LIVES AFTER DARK 2026

I still live by the idea that the Universe doesn’t give you more than you can handle. But let me just say, for the last four and a half years the Universe was not fucking around.

Six days ago, late in the afternoon, I submitted my MA thesis, marking the end a significant chapter in my life. A part of me feels silly writing about it here, in my substack with a focus on nightlife culture in Amsterdam, dance floor discourses and fictional musings, and yet it feels appropriate to share some thoughts on my time in Academia. After all, this substack would probably not exist without it.

In many ways throughout my life I actively avoided pursuing any form of higher education. In primary school I enjoyed anything arts related but struggled greatly in focusing on school curriculum. The school environment overwhelmed me and I felt a lot of shame for not picking up things as quickly as my classmates. This fortified my narrative that I was not good student and therefore not very intelligent. Entering a professional dance program at a young age gave me the opportunity to pursue a creative goal amongst people who strived for the same thing which tempered my insecurities around school. Together we weathered the complications of school life while training vigorously to eventually become working artists, which many of us succeeded in doing.

I never had to worry about higher education because at nineteen I was working a full-time salaried job in a dance company. Back then, decades before the word “burn out” became a common descriptor of our capitalist existence, the idea of pursuing a University degree while climbing the “creative ladder” was not common. Being a professional dancer in a major company already cost me so much emotional, mental and physical strife, it was near impossible to add school into the mix. University would simply have to wait. Which many dancers do pursue after quitting or retiring from dance.

For those often with illustrious and celebrated careers, a vocation in dance is a lifelong journey where upon retirement, teaching positions, choreographic explorations, and artistic directorships of companies big and small become a pathway to deepen a relationship to the art form. But for the few who are able to do this, there are thousands of us who fall by the wayside or leave dance completely to pursue other things, other lives.

Deciding to quit ballet after only three years of dancing professionally left a scar on me that may take a lifetime to process. Loving ballet and being able to navigate the complicated politics of the ballet world are two very different things. Even though I made a successful dance career in other pursuits, the fact that I did not become a celebrated ballet dancer still at times feels like a major failure. Despite all of this, I managed to make a life for myself in creative projects that I loved, all the while avoiding University.

That changed when the pandemic happened. I found myself out of work, questioning what other paths I should consider. I had to face the hard truth that what I loved doing was not making me any money, and this also left me disheartened, finally waking up to the reality that society doles out accolades and merit to things arbitrarily. If things were actually fair we would be showering money to caretakers and teachers not movie stars.

During the pandemic they lowered the cost of admission to University which helped with my decision to go. For decades, having a University degree has become the standard in gaining access to the corporate world where many opt for financial aid to finance their studies. I was not willing to go to school to get a degree I may or may not use just to ecru debt that I would eventually need to pay. Thanks to my partner, I was in a privileged position to go to school without having to do that.

If I was really ambitious about making money I probably should have chosen another degree other than Literature but I knew that if I were to succeed in academia I had to pursue something that I was passionate about and hope that it would lead to some kind of viable form of work later on. Results are still inconclusive.

I remember Fran Lebowitz saying that people mistakenly go to school because they think it will help them become a writer. But you don’t learn to write in school, you learn to read.

I want to be a writer.

But in order to be that, I knew I needed to learn to read.

So that’s what school was for me: learning to read. And I’m so grateful for the experience because I read things I would have never read on my own. Sure there was never enough time and we never got really in depth in the literature as I would have sometimes liked, but I read more books in those three years than I ever have in the last twenty years. I learned about post-colonialism and double consciousness and intersectionality and structuralism. I learned how to close-read and form arguments and support my claims with proof from the text. I learned to be around people with different opinions, different points of view.

School was also hard and sad. I was excited to make friends and that didn’t happen, not in the way I envisioned. As an older student I felt I knew things about life that my classmates hadn’t experienced yet. Friendships take time and commitment to cultivate and there didn’t seem much interest in forming those bonds, at least with me, no matter how hard I tried. Looking back, I admit I must have seemed desperate for connection. A part of me grieves the friendships that were destined only to bloom and fall away during this period. It’s something I had to learn during my time in school.

And that’s what University was for me in many ways: unlearning. Unlearning my antiquated notions of friendship, unlearning the fears about school I had built up. Unlearning the identities and ideas I had constructed and believed about myself.

Sadly, some dear people passed away during this process. This grief permeated my academic journey and really coloured my experience, making me present to how fleeting life truly is.

I still operate under the idea that the Universe doesn’t give you more than you can handle, and that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. But let me just say, for the last four and a half years the Universe was not fucking around.

Completing the MA broke me down in all the ways I had imagined school would do (which led to my avoidance of it for so long). Mainly, the MA became a battle with the voices in my head, the ego that relentlessly tells me that I am not good enough, that my writing sucks, that what I put on paper makes absolutely no sense. Even now, I continue to examine my voice as a writer, questioning the rhythm, tone and syntax of each sentence, each paragraph. Without Uni, I’m not sure I would have the muscle to approach my writing critically in this way.

There is both a rigour and creative component to academic writing that I am truly humbled by. The writing of my thesis pushed me beyond what I thought I was capable of, to think in ways that I was not accustomed to. It really challenged my relationship with my partner, who has spent his life cultivating his life inside of academia. It was hard to advocate for my different approach to writing and thinking. But I’m grateful for his support and tough love, especially during the dark months when my fears kept me from making any progress. The time spent working through my final draft reminding me a lot of my time as a ballet dancer.

“It doesn't make much sense,” I told him after the final edit before I submitted, “but in ballet terms, you have such a refined classical technique when it comes to academic writing. It’s like you want my thesis to dance better. You want this thesis to turn out.”

He made my thesis dance better.

I’m so happy I went to school when I did. I didn’t make the close connections I had hoped for but there are quite a few people I will keep in my heart forever. I loved learning and being around this younger generation. We are not so different. We’re all just trying to make sense of this crazy world, have a good job, fall in love, be happy.

This is the end of something but I hope also the start of something new.

If you’re having a midlife crisis I highly recommend going to University than buying a new sports car or blowing up your life. I truly believe that staying curious has kept me young, kept my mind supple and forced my ego be less rigid. Go to school, hang around bright young minds, understand how they see the world, learn together. Close the age gap.

But hey, if you have the money buy the sports car if you want. What the fuck do I know?

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Every week I publish this Substack as part of my practice to explore and refine my voice as a writer. My writing is often random and unstructured, a kind of reflective prose that touches on auto-fiction with thoughts that are both personal and completely made up. My goal is to stay consistent with my practice and to write and share my creative expression regardless if it is “worthy” or “finished.”

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