On February 11th, How to Dance in Ohio's talented cast takes their final bow on Broadway. The musical adapts a 2015 documentary that tells the story of a group of neurodivergent students who throw themselves a formal dance, which they've decided is an important milestone to which they normally wouldn't have access. The musical received mixed reviews. Critics appreciated the musical's importance as autistic representation and admired its heartwarming tone but were left unsatisfied by its execution. These critiques have left people wondering if the musical was "successful." I, then, wonder what we mean by "success?" For all its alleged missteps, How to Dance in Ohio has affected me more actively than almost any other show I've seen.
I've recently come to terms with a neurodivergent diagnosis of my own. I don't mean to parrot the tired rhetoric that the show was "for me," but more so than any other musical, How to Dance in Ohio taught me a framework of thinking I utilize daily. The musical's thesis as stsated in the song "Getting Ready for the Dance" says, "Each small victory can feel gigantic." Neurotypical people may not realize how pervasive socializing is in the functioning of our society. For citizens who behave in a way deemed "inappropriate," it takes a gargantuan effort to do tasks that some find simple or easy. This effort can result in neurodivergent people feeling exhausted or burnt out after what would seemingly be an average day. This tiredness can often make a neurodivergent person feel like they're constantly failing. Counselors often try to reframe this thinking to focus on the "small victories." You talked to someone new today! You communicated a need! Our days are full of challenges, and we often overcome far more than we succumb to.
My ADHD paralysis overtakes me often. I spend so much time in my day beating myself up for not accomplishing everything I think I can. Or how much I feel like I'm supposed to. Without thinking about it, I find myself using language like "small victories" to reframe my thinking in those moments of self-flagellation. It helps to divide seemingly impossible tasks into something more manageable. It provides me with a more graceful perspective on my abilities and value.
For all of its Pulitzer Prizes and Tony Awards, I don't think about Hamilton when I'm struggling to accomplish daily tasks. Primarily just when I'm staring at a blank computer screen trying to figure out how to write like I'm running out of time. I'm not trying to argue that How to Dance in Ohio is a perfect musical. I'm not even trying to argue that it's a good musical. But I can say that the language introduced to my life from that musical has dramatically shifted my perspective on myself. And if one other person can express that the musical has changed them—especially another neurodivergent person—it was very successful.
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