Skates or Slippers?

In Northern Ontario, it's not unusual for childhood to revolve around an arena or a dance studio. Either way, you learn early what commitment looks like.

For some, it's found at the rink. For others, it's in the dance studio. I was lucky enough to experience both. As a young child, I played hockey while also taking dance lessons, so from the very beginning, I was part of both worlds.

I grew up with skates on my feet and ballet slippers in my dance bag. As a young hockey player, I knew the early mornings, the cold arenas, the long drives, and the discipline hockey demanded. As a young dancer, I knew the late nights at the studio, hours of repetition, chasing technique, and finding joy in movement.

Eventually, those two worlds collided. Practices overlapped with rehearsals, games with competitions, and my parents asked the question every young athlete eventually faces:

Skates or slippers?

I chose the slippers.

That decision shaped my life, but I never left hockey behind. The lessons simply came with me.

People often see dance and hockey as opposites, but growing up in Northern Ontario, having played hockey while training as a dancer, I saw how similar they really are. Both demand discipline, resilience, teamwork, and a willingness to keep showing up when progress feels slow. In both worlds, you earn your place through preparation, not promises.

What hockey taught me about perseverance became just as valuable in the studio.

My dance journey wasn't one where everything came naturally. Some skills took longer to develop, and some physical qualities had to be built through determination rather than talent. Looking back, I'm grateful for that. It taught me persistence, patience, and how to trust the process instead of chasing perfection.

As a dance educator and adjudicator, those lessons shape how I work with dancers today. I've seen the confidence, friendships, and opportunities that competitive dance can create, but I've also come to believe that excellence and well-being should never compete with one another.

We should absolutely encourage young dancers to work hard, dream big, and pursue excellence. At the same time, we have a responsibility to protect their joy, nurture their confidence, and remind them that their worth isn't defined by placements or awards.

My story began with both skates and slippers.

The slippers became my path.

Today, as I watch my daughter begin her own dance journey, I'm reminded that the greatest lessons from both the rink and the studio were never just about the sport itself. They were about commitment, resilience, community, and finding a place to belong.

Those are the lessons I hope she carries with her, wherever her own path leads—whether she grows up in a dance studio, an arena, or somewhere in between.

In Dance,
Ashley