Dancing Into Destiny: The Unexpected Paths That Shape Us

By Dr. Chi Zhang

This is a special edition blog post presented in partnership with the Society of Asian Academic Surgeons in celebration of Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month.

I was objectively terrible at dancing. My limbs felt too long, and my footwork betrayed even the simplest beat. My parents quickly unenrolled me from ballet. This was only partially because of my pleading, but they were probably relieved to no longer suffer second-hand embarrassment. While I thought my dancing career was over at the ripe age of 7, my dancing inabilities returned to haunt me when I was invited to be a part of my friend’s quinceañera. Out of obligation, and perhaps some curiosity, I accepted, unaware that this would be a turning point in my life. Unaware yet that a similar transformation would lead me to a life in the operating room.

At rehearsal, as music pulsed through the room and vibrant dresses twirled, I stood stiffly in a corner, hoping to become one with the wall. A few brave souls tried the choreography with me, but I stumbled more than I stepped. Fueled by quiet determination, a bruised ego, and a need to succeed, I signed up for ballroom dance lessons. I expected mild improvement. I did not expect to fall in love.

The first few lessons were awkward, but over time, the music transformed from noise to a melodic partner, and I grew more confident. It did not come easily. I worked hard, practiced for hours, studied choreography, and failed repeatedly. The quinceañera went off without a hitch, and surprisingly, I found myself joining the competitive ballroom team once I enrolled in college. Somehow, this previous source of shame became a source of strength. My partner and I went on to compete at multiple competitions throughout the years, we won (a lot!!), and we even became coaches within our club.

Life tends to rhyme, and my journey through medical school unfolded in much the same way. I never planned to become a surgeon. I entered medical school thinking I would go into internal medicine. Surgery seemed too intense, too detached, too unlike me. At the beginning of my surgery rotation, I was just trying to survive. But the more I was immersed, the more I was proven wrong – there was never enough time in the day to explore the artistry within the science, and the coordination between the teams was far from detached. The elegant flow of operations felt strangely like a dance – one I decided I had to learn.

The parallels between learning to dance and learning to operate surprised me. Both demanded focus, endurance, precision, and creativity. Both required me to push past discomfort and embarrassment, to embrace steep learning curves, and to trust that effort could transform ability. Just as I would once stand awkwardly on a dance floor, I now stood at the operating table—calm, ready, and confident in the rhythm of my hands.

Neither of these passions were part of the plan. But life has a way of revealing hidden callings. The key was being open-minded—saying yes even when I felt unqualified, curious even when I felt afraid. Passion does not come as a thunderbolt. It arrives in a quiet decision to show up, again and again, until it begins to feel like home. I’ve learned that opportunity disguises itself as discomfort. By leaning into those moments, strife becomes strength. In the operating room or on the dance floor, I found my rhythm.

About the Author: Dr. Chi Zhang

I am a current PGY 4 at the Mayo Clinic in Arizona and future minimally invasive surgeon. I received my undergraduate degree from the University of Virginia and my medical degree from Geisel School of Medicine at Dartmouth. I am an assistant professor in health services research, with focus on outcomes and quality of life studies. In my retirement from competitive ballroom dancing, I have channeled my creativity to baking, filling the resident lounge with homemade breads, pastries, and desserts.