It's important to get well-rounded right off the bat. A lot of

Hear the words of Mandy Moore, a guide in the world of rhythm and expression: “It’s important to get well-rounded right off the bat. A lot of experienced dancers can get pigeonholed into one thing. I’ve been hired for a lot of different gigs simply because I can do a lot of different things with different levels of dancers. And it’s sad to me that some dancers don’t do more.” Though her voice speaks of art and movement, her truth is one that applies to all who labor and strive in life: that versatility is strength, and narrowness, however skilled, can become a prison.

For the ancients taught that no craft should bind the soul to a single path. A warrior who knows only the sword is vulnerable when the bow is drawn against him. A statesman who speaks only to the noble cannot move the hearts of the common. So too, says Moore, is the fate of the dancer who perfects one style but neglects the rest. At first, their brilliance dazzles, but in time, their world narrows, and opportunities pass them by. The well-rounded one, though perhaps less dazzling in a single domain, endures through adaptability, and in endurance, they triumph.

The history of art confirms this lesson. Leonardo da Vinci was not only a painter but an engineer, an anatomist, an inventor, and a philosopher. It was his well-rounded mastery, his refusal to be pigeonholed, that made him a genius remembered across centuries. If he had limited himself only to painting, his work might still be admired—but the breadth of his curiosity allowed his influence to stretch into every discipline of the Renaissance. In Moore’s lament that it is sad when some dancers "don’t do more," we hear the same call: do not shrink your potential to a single corner of the stage; embrace the full expanse of possibility.

Consider, too, the world of combat. The legendary samurai of Japan were expected not only to fight but also to write poetry, to paint, to compose music. For they knew that to become great in spirit, one must cultivate many arts. A swordsman who knew only the blade was incomplete; only through balance of skills could harmony be achieved. This mirrors Moore’s insight: the dancer who learns to move in many ways can step into any circle, adapt to any rhythm, and shine among both masters and beginners.

But let us not mistake her sorrow. The sadness she names is not condemnation of those who choose one path, but regret for wasted potential. For she knows, as do the wise, that every artist, every soul, carries within them vast capacity, yet fear or habit often keeps them bound to the familiar. The tragedy lies not in failing to excel at one thing, but in never daring to explore the fullness of what one could be.

The lesson for us is clear: strive for breadth as well as depth. Do not seek to master only one note, for life is a symphony. Whether in art, in craft, or in living itself, cultivate many skills, many perspectives. For in versatility lies freedom, and in freedom lies longevity. The one who can bend to many rhythms will not break when the music changes.

Practical action follows: seek to expand yourself deliberately. If you are trained in one discipline, study another. If you are skilled in one art, taste the lessons of a different form. If you work with only the accomplished, also learn to guide the novice. In this way, like Moore, you will not only succeed in many gigs, but also enrich your spirit, for the diversity of skills is itself a source of joy.

Thus, Mandy Moore’s words, though clothed in the language of dance, carry eternal wisdom. To be well-rounded is to be prepared for the shifting tides of life; to refuse it is to risk being stranded when the world moves on. Let us therefore embrace breadth, nurture versatility, and honor the fullness of our potential. For only then will we step into the great dance of life not as prisoners of one rhythm, but as masters of many, free to move with grace through every season.