How a Dancing T-rex Alien Best Friend Changed My Life
Not Your Usual Example of Freedom and Courage
"If you could do anything in the world, what do you want to do?
It's a simple question, yet the majority of us will find an easier time identifying a list of what we do not want to do; a list of things that provoke our discontent.
That wasn't the case with Margot. Her answer flowed out with lightness and full of conviction, "I just want to do weird dance moves and make people happy. I just want to be myself."
The setting I first met Margot two years ago was not conducive for this particular dream. We met at a financial firm where enrolling clients required professionalism that upheld the elite standards of our Beverly Hills office. Fresh pressed suits and hot pressed confidence was the name of the game. Conducting weird dance moves during meetings defy the idea of business conduct and social normalcy. It wouldn't be welcomed, would it?
I remember the first time I saw her dance. Our team was huddled outside the office, wrapping up our night, when music from the rollaway speaker started pumping. I saw flashes of a red jumpsuit in and out of my vision as Margot, in her beautiful 5'11 frame, starts flailing like a leap frog doing an Irish jig, her long blonde hair swirling like a snow flurry in the night sky. The team went wild, while I nearly stumbled on my heels with laughter. Margot had single-handedly shattered the glass that compartmentalized our professional facades from our child within. Time stood still for that fleeting moment as we unified just being joyful human beings.
This incident would be the first of many where I witnessed Margot's weird dance moves challenging the boundaries of societal norms. From high-brow restaurants to dive bars and ocean sandbars, Margot dances whenever and wherever music plays. Wildly. Sober. It is as if a disco spirit possesses her body and in that moment, dance is the only thing that matters. It never occurs to her that she is the only body moving.
Her logic: "A lot of times I don't feel like my body's mine. I'm pretty sure I'm an alien."
Bernie Lean, Irish jigs, river dancing, and ballet plies paired in chaotic combination of shimmies, twerking, and pawing at the air. You really can't be sure what's going on, except that you can't stop watching. In fact, you'll feel compelled to pull out your phone and record her so that you can share it with those unable to be in presence.
Over the past year, her dance moves evolved and eventually became coined by her Instagram audience as the "T-rex," infamously naming her "America's Spirit Animal." I doubt she would've ever imagined this could be her life when she graduated with her Masters Degree in Marriage and Family therapy from Chapman University, as well as earning multiple certifications in holistic therapist modalities.
Margot's dancing is impeccably ridiculous and never ceases to rupture a smile on the lowest and darkest days (of mine and many others). However, it is not the quirkiness of her dancing that truly captures you. That, alone, could never shift the hearts of people nor transform their lives. You see, when Margot dances, you are inevitably submerged in something that reminds you of what we all once possessed as children: an utter and untainted sense of self-expression and freedom.
Freedom. From fear of receiving scornful critique from others. From fear that if someone really gets to know the real you, you won't be loved. From fear of discovering who you really are and being disappointed. From fear of trying only to fall or fail, or both.
I know these fears all too well. Maybe you do too. One too many times fear crippled me from taking action. What's worse, there's been just as many moments where I've waged war with myself and defended to keep my limitations. This is not the life I wanted to live, a life led in fear. And so, countless hours and energy were invested to free myself from my limitations. It wasn't until I met Margot that I was able to create breakthroughs with radical acceleration. I attribute it to proximity and frequency of exposure to what she embodied. It is said that if you want to succeed in achieving your desires, find and learn from those who already have it.
Courage seems to be encoded in Margot's DNA. It's evident not just in her dancing, but in everything she does. She puts herself out into the world with fearlessness intertwined with unshakeable optimism that anything is possible. She replies to contempt and hateful comments with graceful humor followed by a sincere "I love you."
It takes courage to be kind. It takes courage to take chances. It takes courage to be yourself at the risk of looking like a fool. It takes courage to fight internal battles daily. It takes courage to live truly free. So, what does it take to live a life of courage?
She tells me, "I ask myself: If I were to die tomorrow, would this fear I'm feeling right now really matter?"
From my experience, it is only with rare exceptions that the answer is... no.
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Lost but Trying
There are moments in life when everything feels lost—not dramatically, not loudly, but quietly. The kind of loss that settles into your bones and makes even simple breathing feel heavy. For Adam, that moment came on an ordinary Tuesday morning when he realized he had nowhere left to go. At twenty-seven, Adam wasn’t supposed to feel this tired. He wasn’t supposed to feel like life had already passed him by. Yet there he was, sitting on the edge of a narrow bed in a rented room, staring at peeling paint on the wall, wondering how everything had gone so wrong. He had once been full of plans. Big ones. Dreams of building something meaningful, of becoming someone his younger self would be proud of. But life, as it often does, had other ideas. Adam grew up in a small town where hope was common but opportunities were rare. His father worked long hours, his mother carried silent strength, and everyone believed that education would be the escape route. Adam believed it too. He studied hard, stayed out of trouble, and dreamed even harder. But dreams don’t always come with instructions. After college, rejection letters became his daily routine. Job interviews led to polite smiles and empty promises. “We’ll get back to you,” they said. Most never did. Slowly, confidence turned into doubt. Doubt turned into fear. And fear became a constant companion. When his father fell ill, Adam returned home. Medical bills piled up. Savings vanished. Dreams were postponed, then quietly buried. After his father’s death, the house felt too empty, too loud in its silence. Adam left again, this time not chasing dreams, but running from memories. The city welcomed him with indifference. He worked temporary jobs—delivery rider, warehouse helper, night security guard. None lasted long. Each job paid just enough to survive, never enough to grow. Failure followed him like a shadow, whispering reminders of what he hadn’t become. One night, after being laid off yet again, Adam walked aimlessly through the city streets. Neon lights blurred into streaks of color. Laughter spilled out of cafés he couldn’t afford. He felt invisible, like a background character in everyone else’s success story. That night, he considered giving up. Not dramatically. Not with a note or tears. Just a quiet decision to stop trying. To accept that some people were meant to struggle forever. He sat on a bench near a bus stop, head in his hands, when an old man sat beside him. “You look like someone who’s lost,” the man said gently. Adam didn’t reply. The old man continued, “Being lost isn’t the problem. Staying lost is.” Adam finally looked up. The man’s face was lined with age, but his eyes carried a calm confidence, the kind earned through survival. “I’ve tried,” Adam said bitterly. “Nothing works.” The man smiled softly. “Trying doesn’t guarantee success. It guarantees growth.” Adam wanted to argue, but something in the man’s voice stopped him. “I failed more times than I can count,” the old man added. “But each failure taught me something. Most people quit right before life changes.” The bus arrived. The old man stood up. “Don’t stop trying,” he said. “Even slow steps are steps forward.” Then he was gone. Adam sat there long after the bus left. For the first time in months, something shifted inside him—not hope exactly, but curiosity. What if stopping wasn’t the answer? What if trying, even imperfectly, still mattered? The next day, Adam did something small. He updated his resume. It wasn’t impressive, but it was honest. He applied for jobs he felt un for. He watched free online courses at night. He started writing—short thoughts, reflections, anything that helped him release the weight inside. Days turned into weeks. Rejections continued, but so did effort. One evening, Adam posted a short piece of writing online. He didn’t expect much. But comments came in. Strangers resonated with his words. Someone said, “This feels like my life.” Another wrote, “Thank you for putting my feelings into words.” For the first time, Adam felt seen. He kept writing. Months later, he landed a small content job—not glamorous, not permanent—but real. It paid little, but it paid consistently. More importantly, it gave him purpose. Life didn’t magically improve overnight. Problems didn’t disappear. Some days were still heavy. But Adam noticed something new: he no longer felt stuck. Trying had changed him. He learned that progress isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It arrives quietly, disguised as persistence. He learned that being lost doesn’t mean being broken. Sometimes it simply means you’re between versions of yourself. Years later, Adam would look back on that bench, that night, and that stranger. He would realize that the turning point wasn’t a job or success—it was a decision. A decision to keep trying, even when trying hurt. Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do isn’t winning. It’s not quitting.
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