(March. 17, 2025)

Success is Given

Anthony Mackie recently appeared on The Pivot Podcast, and while the entire interview was compelling, one particular statement struck me: "Success is given, it’s not earned." His words immediately brought me back to a defining moment in Cleveland sports history. If you’re from Northeast Ohio, you know the reverse of that statement as a battle cry. After the Cavaliers' historic 2016 NBA Championship win—coming back from a 3-1 deficit against the greatest regular-season team in NBA history—LeBron James stood on the court and declared, "Everything is earned, nothing is given." For a region that often feels like an underdog, especially Akron, those words meant everything. It wasn’t just about basketball; it was about being seen, about proving that our hard work and resilience could lead to victory.

But Mackie's words challenge that belief. They suggest that success isn’t solely about effort—it’s about being chosen. No matter how much you grind, someone with power, position, and authority ultimately decides whether you get the opportunity. And that flies in the face of what we teach our children and what we want to believe about ourselves. When I heard Mackie say those words, it was frustrating, but I also knew he was right. I’ve always believed that if I worked hard enough, the opportunities would come. But if I’m being honest, I’ve also seen moments where talent and effort weren’t enough—where someone else’s decision dictated whether I moved forward or stayed in place. It made me reflect on my own journey, the times I was chosen and the times I wasn’t. And even now, I wrestle with what that means.

This gets into a bigger conversation about gatekeeping. Where is the line between quality control and exclusion? We like to believe we are chosen solely based on merit, but the truth is there are countless variables in who gets picked and who doesn’t. In dance, for example, a company might hold an open audition and see 40-50 incredible dancers, but if there’s a costume left behind from a 5’10” female dancer who recently left, then no matter how talented the other women under 5’10” are, the dancer closest to that size will likely be chosen. The decision isn’t purely about talent—it’s about logistics, aesthetics, budgets, and sometimes, just a gut feeling from the person in charge.

I’ve been on both sides of this. I’ve worked tirelessly on projects that I believed deserved recognition but were overlooked for reasons beyond my control. I’ve also been in the position where I had to make the final call on which dancer to choose. And the truth? It’s rarely just about talent. That’s a hard reality to sit with.

If being chosen is the key to opportunity, then how do we live with that reality? How do we keep pushing toward the heights we desire, knowing that at some point, our success will rely on someone else’s decision? No matter how much we refine our craft, no matter how hard we work, there comes a moment where we wait for affirmation—from a peer, an institution, an audience. And I struggle with the idea that the solution is simply to redefine success. What if I don’t want to? What if my vision—performing on bigger stages, receiving recognition, knowing my work resonates widely—isn’t a symptom of ego or external validation, but a healthy and deeply personal drive? And what if I never get there? What if I never reach that dream, not because I didn’t earn it, but because it had to be given, and it wasn’t? That’s the weight I sit with. That’s the reality I’m trying to reconcile.

We often criticize the concept of celebrity in the arts, but do we need it for our industry to be relevant to the general public? Does having ‘chosen ones’ serve as an entry point for broader audiences? Look at something as niche as swimming—Michael Phelps made swimming matter culturally, at least every four years. The general public became invested in a way they hadn’t before. Maybe dance needs that kind of representation.

And if I’m being completely honest, I want that for myself. Not for fame, but for the opportunity that comes with being chosen—the platform, the resources, the ability to push myself further as an artist, and yes, to provide more for my family. And that’s hard to admit. I want all artists to have success, but the reality is, industries create stars. They choose who’s next. And when you’re chosen, you determine how far you take the opportunity.

But what about everyone else who isn’t chosen? How do we reconcile with that reality? How do we acknowledge the structures that create gatekeepers while still striving for excellence?

I get it. We don’t all get a trophy. But we can’t ignore how disappointment is sometimes the rewards for hardworking people. And how it shapes how we engage with our dreams.

Next week, I want to dive deeper into this idea of ‘chosen ones’, ‘the rejected’ and whether dance, like other industries, needs both to thrive. Because if we’re being honest, what would swimming be without Michael Phelps? What would basketball be without Micheal Jordan or LeBron? And in dance—who decides which artists get that spotlight, and is that a good thing?

Let’s talk about it.

Dom