Why Celebrating Yourself Changes Everything
A couple of weeks ago, my friend Angela invited me to speak to a 5th-grade class at Lacoochee Elementary School in Dade City, Florida—a neighborhood where opportunities don't always come easy. But what that community does have are passionate, dedicated teachers and a principal who make sure their students are exposed to the wider world, no matter what.
The classroom was filled with bright-eyed, curious, intelligent young women who were ready for everything.
When I was in middle school, Jacques d'Amboise—the legendary dancer and founder of the National Dance Institute—visited my school. At the time, I was quietly obsessed with dance but starved for encouragement. I clung to every episode of Fame and every move Debbie Allen made.
Jacques didn't speak to us like students. He spoke to us like we were already part of his company, already part of his family. That distinction meant everything.
He had gone from being a celebrated professional ballet dancer to building something with no restrictions, no gatekeepers, and no boundaries—and that place became my second home. School was my first.
Everyone was welcome. Everyone was a star. He looked you straight in the eye and made you feel it. He was passionate about creating a space where people could be physically expressive, creatively alive, and deeply connected to one another—and to the world. Once a year, he brought children from everywhere to dance together at Madison Square Garden. If that's not a blueprint for world peace, I don't know what is.
I learned more world history through the National Dance Institute than I ever did from a textbook—because Jacques broke through his own labels, started living from his soul, and that kind of passion speaks every language.
When Angela asked me to speak at Lacoochee Elementary, I said yes without a second thought. Sometimes the things that feel minor to us have a major impact on someone else—and that's never lost on me.
I have the teacher show my documentary or a photo montage before I enter, so the students get a sense of who I am. When I walked through that door, you would have thought I was a celebrity. Those girls lit up. I felt every butterfly I had as a kid in middle school come rushing back.
I was their Jacques. I was their Debbie Allen.
Many of those young women rarely get the chance to step outside their neighborhood—unless their family is forced to relocate for financial reasons or a job search. So I made it my mission to make each one of them feel like they were already part of the world. Already part of something bigger. Already part of me.
The most important question I ask young people isn't "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
It's "What do you enjoy doing right now?"
Because doing is being.
One of the most liberating things I ever did was stop living inside someone else's definition of me. I heard too many times that I couldn't be a dancer, couldn't attend LaGuardia High School of Performing Arts, couldn't choreograph or perform—because the people around me didn't share those interests. And for a while, I believed them. I gave up on myself. I tried to fit in.
Earl Nightingale once said that one of the greatest failures of the human race isn't cowardice—it's conformity. That line stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard it.
Here's something I remind myself of often: there are people for that.
Whatever your interest—however niche, however bold, however unlike everyone around you—there are people who share it. You just have to start. Take one step, and the universe has a way of placing the right people beside you.
Creativity isn't optional. It's what we were born to express. And what makes it even more powerful is having a community to express it with.
Standing in that classroom meant everything to me. I retired from the NYPD after 20 years, but that experience will always be woven into who I am. Those young women got to see that I'm not just one thing. I served in law enforcement and I dance and sing. I published a book. I produced a musical. These aren't contradictions—they're the full picture.
When we give ourselves permission to do, there's no limit to what we can be.
The word "celebrity" literally means to celebrate a person. We tend to reserve that for people we see on screens—but I celebrate myself, and I celebrate you. We all matter. We all leave a mark on someone's life, and someone has left a mark on ours.
I've had incredible mentors. I still meet people who push me to go further. And I hope—wherever you are—you have that too.
Jacques is an angel now, watching over all the dancers and dreamers he set free. I hope I made him proud that day.
Maybe a few of those girls took something home from our time together. I know I did.
If you haven't read my book yet, pick it up—I share the full story of my experience with Jacques and what it meant for my life. And if someone in your world could use a reminder to celebrate themselves, share this post with them.
Until next time—love, trust, and Celebrate You.
