The Permission Workout By Brian Golden
The Permission Workout
By Brian Golden
Brian Golden is a dancer and choreographer based in Los Angeles and New York City. He is currently working in the capacity of a Dance Church 2025 Summer Research Intern.
For a long time, I thought dance was about getting it “right.”
Growing up with dyspraxia, a neurological condition that affects the planning and coordination of movements, and an auditory processing disorder, which affects how my brain interprets sound, I often found myself a few seconds behind in dance classes. Teachers would say, “Feel the music!” and I’d try, but my body felt like it had its own translator—one that was constantly buffering. I could hear the music, but by the time my brain made sense of it, the moment had already passed. I learned early on how to blend into the back row, how to mimic shapes without ever quite trusting that I belonged in the rhythm.
Then I found improvisation. And eventually, I found Dance Church.
Dance Church taught me that dancing isn’t about perfection. It’s about trust.
Traditional dance classes are often centered around a “right” way to move: But Dance Church doesn’t ask for perfection. It invites sensation.
In a space where pop music blares and the lights dim, there’s an unexpected sense of freedom. You hear a beat drop—not as a demand, but as an offering. A chance to jump, bounce, groove, or simply listen. The music—echoed by the rhythm of bodies bouncing nearby, the guide’s open energy, and the playful invitation of each movement—becomes less of a metronome and more of a friend saying, “Let’s go for a ride.” You can follow specific music cues, or float beside them. There’s no penalty for being “off.” There’s only permission to be in your body.
As a choreographer, I spend a lot of time giving dancers permission: to take risks, to go off-script, to make bold choices. But Dance Church flipped that script. I had to give that same permission to myself. To not get every move “right.” To not know what came next. That’s its own kind of workout—building the muscle of trust. Letting movement emerge before the mind catches up.
Sometimes the hardest part of class isn’t the cardio. It’s releasing the idea that there’s a correct way to move. Dance Church offers a rare, intentional structure—a container with landmarks and musical anchors that help guide us. But within that frame, there are a million ways to say yes. You can be in the beat, or between it. You can move in unison, or go rogue. And it’s all welcome.
One of the things I love most about Dance Church is that its structure actually creates the conditions for freedom. The guide isn’t mic’d, and because the music is loud, you can’t always hear the exact instructions — and that’s the point. Without constant verbal cues from a single source, you’re invited to tune in with your eyes, to read the room, to let the collective rhythm of other bodies inform your next choice. Instead of relying on perfect cues, you start to follow energy, gesture, tone, and the shared pulse of the room—how someone flips their hair, how another drops into their hips, how a bounce builds into a ripple across the room. This diffusion of authority, of information, is also present in the way the class is spread out, with people moving in every direction. There’s freedom, yes—but it’s held inside a shared rhythm. You’re invited to follow along, but you’re never forced to abandon your own pace, your own path. It’s a collective practice that makes room for personal choice. Halfway through, we’re tired, sweaty, and everybody is on a spectrum of energy levels. Some people are catching their breath, others are in a full-bodied groove. The levels of effort vary, but the focus doesn’t. Everyone is deeply in it, responding to what they have in that moment.
The other thing about the center-facing, non-hierarchical arrangement of bodies is that you’re constantly seeing other people—not just their movements, but their choices, their effort, their joy, their struggle. A smile is infectious—you see someone let loose, and it gives you permission to do the same. It reminds me that belonging doesn’t come from uniformity. It comes from showing up fully, and witnessing others doing the same. That kind of permission is built into the sound, the space, the structure. It says: go your way. We’re all still dancing together.
That’s the kind of structure I craved growing up. A class that holds you, but doesn’t box you in. A rhythm you don’t have to chase—you get to meet it where you are.
Dance Church doesn’t separate dance from life. It doesn’t require mastery to be meaningful. It honors the body as it is—trained or untrained. It builds bridges between people who might not speak the same movement language. It anchors us when the body feels untethered. And it reminds us that rhythm—like movement, choice-making, and sensation—isn’t a skill to master. It’s a language we’re born speaking.
We just have to give ourselves permission to hear it.
In Dance Church, where improvisation is not just accepted but celebrated, I finally feel like I’m dancing in real time with myself—not behind anyone else. That bounce, that pulse, is no longer something I have to “get right”—it’s just something I get to feel.
What’s beautiful is that no action at Dance Church has to be big or perfect. Sometimes it’s a quiet head nod, a weight shift, a breath syncing with bass. That’s still a connection. That’s still dancing. We’re just saying yes to being here. To being human.
That’s why I keep coming back. Not to get better, but to get freer.
Bio:
Brian Golden is a neurodivergent choreographer and movement director based between Los Angeles and New York. He is pursuing an MFA in Choreography at the California Institute of the Arts, with minors in Pedagogy and Integrated Media. A 2024 MAP Fund recipient, he will premiere a new immersive work in 2026. His choreography explores conflict, sensation, and identity through lived experience. His work has been presented at The Joyce Theater, Battery Dance Festival, and Jacob’s Pillow. He has choreographed commercially for artists like Yung Gravy and Daddy Yankee and was the 2024 Choreography Fellow with AXIS Dance Company.
Photos by Hannah La Follette Ryan
