We recently connected with Adrian Miramontes and have shared our conversation below.

Adrian, appreciate you joining us today. It’s always helpful to hear about times when someone’s had to take a risk – how did they think through the decision, why did they take the risk, and what ended up happening. We’d love to hear about a risk you’ve taken.

Taking risks has been at the core of my journey as an artist. In fact, choosing to pursue my artistic passion over a more conventional path was one of the first major risks I ever took. I was in college studying graphic design, but over time, I found myself burning out and losing my connection to the work. At the same time, my passion for dance was steadily growing. Being raised in Los Angeles, I was surrounded by some of the best dancers in the world, and that environment lit a fire in me. I took it as a sign — a calling — to follow that path more seriously.

So, I made a bold decision: I dropped out of graphic design school and committed to dance full-time. I joined a dance company, began performing and competing, and before I knew it, I was earning my first income as a dancer. That moment was surreal — to see something I loved so deeply start to sustain me and show me what was possible.
But the risks didn’t stop there. If anything, they only increased. I started auditioning, putting myself out there again and again, often facing rejection. I stepped into the intimidating world of dance battles and competitions — where the pressure of performing in front of judges, a live audience, and a formidable opponent could feel overwhelming. I lost far more times than I won in the beginning. But I kept going. Eventually, I started winning local competitions in Los Angeles and began to make a name for myself in the scene.

Another major risk I took was relocating to different states to expand my network and immerse myself in new dance communities. It was terrifying to start over in unfamiliar places, but each move brought growth, new relationships, and invaluable experiences.

What I’ve learned is that being an artist doesn’t mean the risks ever stop — but you get better at taking them. The fear never fully disappears, but I’ve discovered that true courage isn’t about the absence of fear. It’s about dancing with it — moving forward despite the fear.

The artist path is not an easy one. It comes with uncertainty, setbacks, and constant challenges. But it has shaped me into a resilient person and taught me that risk is often the bridge to the next level of growth. And for that, I’m deeply grateful.

Adrian, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

My name is Adrian Miramontes. I’m a Chicano artist, born and raised in Anaheim, California — a place where hispanic culture collided with the harsh realities of gang violence and poverty. Despite those challenges, or maybe because of them, I was drawn to expression and creativity early on.

My dance journey began humbly — messing around with friends in garages, copying music videos and old VHS tapes. Everything changed when I stumbled across an online forum that opened the door to the underground street dance scene in L.A., a global epicenter for street dance culture. That discovery led me to local practice sessions and events where I eventually met and trained under various O.G’s (Originators) and pioneers of these dance styles. Dancers I once idolized became like mentors and older siblings who guided me into the heart of the culture.

Since 2006, I’ve spent nearly two decades immersed in dance. That time has shaped not only my technique and artistry, but my philosophy. Today, I offer high-impact performance art — from theater shows to music festivals — designed to inspire and activate audiences. I lead workshops across the U.S., mostly on the west coast. My core work happens through coaching. I help movers — from beginners to seasoned pros — break past creative blocks, tap into their unique essence, and deepen their connection to the body, music, and self-expression. It’s about empowerment through movement.

Dance, being such a deeply healing practice, naturally led me to explore other healing arts such as Yoga, Tai Chi, Breathwork, and Meditation. I’m now on faculty at Arizona State University, teaching students how to integrate wellness practices into their lives. This fusion of dance and healing inspired me to create the Dance Djedi Academy — an online dance school and curriculum that blends street dance, holistic health, ancient wisdom into a unique transformational approach to dance.

What I’m most proud of isn’t the credentials or performances — it’s the community I’ve built. The students, clients, and friends who’ve been positively impacted by my work remind me every day why I do what I do.

If there’s one message I want to leave people with, it’s this: The human body holds untapped potential — powerful, sacred energy waiting to be awakened. Movement and mindful practice can open doors we never thought possible. In a world pulling us in every direction, I’m here to remind people of the magic they carry within — and to help them bring it to life.

Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?

Being a full-time dancer — or any kind of artist — is a path filled with challenges that demand resilience. You’re either crushed by the pressure, setbacks, and failures, or you find a way to rise above them and grow stronger because of them. Over the years, I’ve had to cultivate many layers of resilience, but I’d like to share three defining stages that shaped me into the person I am today.

The first form of resilience I had to build was simply dancing in front of others. Dance is incredibly vulnerable — you’re moving your body, expressing your soul, in front of strangers who are watching your every move. In the beginning, the pressure was overwhelming. I’d become a bundle of nerves, completely anxious and self-conscious. But over time, as my skills grew and I received positive feedback from audiences, my confidence began to blossom. Eventually, performing became something I thrived on. Today, I welcome large audiences. The bigger the crowd, the more alive I feel.

The second form of resilience came through battling — a core element of street dance culture. I was naturally drawn to the thrill of competition, but when I finally stepped into the ring, I was hit with a fear I’d never experienced before. The moment my name was called, with judges staring me down, cameras pointed at me, and an opponent ready to take me out — it all became too much. My training would disappear, my body would lock up, and my nervous system would go haywire. I was riddled with anxiety. But I kept showing up. Over time, I learned how to quiet the outside world and focus entirely on the music. I stopped performing for others and started dancing for myself again. Eventually, I fell in love with the spirit of competition. It brought out the best in me and sharpened my skills like nothing else.

The third and perhaps greatest test of resilience was navigating the financial uncertainty that often comes with the life of an artist. Dance isn’t known as a path to financial abundance, and no matter how hard I tried to deny that truth, I had to face it. For many years, I lived month to month, gig to gig, often traveling without knowing where I’d sleep or how I’d eat. It was exhausting and stressful, and I wouldn’t wish that instability on anyone. And yet, it taught me so much. It forced me to confront one of humanity’s deepest fears — the fear of not having enough. I had to learn how to trust, to let go, to stay grounded in chaos. I leaned into my faith, trusting that somehow, things would work out. And they always did.

Each of these challenges — vulnerability, fear, uncertainty — became doorways to deeper strength. They taught me how to stay grounded under pressure, how to adapt quickly, and how to keep going even when the path felt impossible. I’m proud of the resilience I’ve developed through this life. I’ve become familiar with what most people fear most — and I’ve learned how to move through it with grace, courage, and trust.

What can society do to ensure an environment that’s helpful to artists and creatives?

Growing up as a dancer in the U.S., there was always this underlying message floating around: “Don’t expect to make money as a dancer.” It was widely accepted that dancers are some of the lowest-paid artists across all creative fields. As a young artist, I tried to ignore that belief. I was stubborn, committed to my craft, and determined to turn my passion into a full-time profession. For a while, that mindset carried me — until reality set in.

Most of my artistic journey has been filled with struggle. Living paycheck to paycheck, navigating uncertainty, and dealing with the constant anxiety of not knowing where my next opportunity would come from became part of the norm. It wasn’t because I lacked talent, discipline, or drive. It was because the ecosystem around me didn’t value dance in the way it should.

Everything changed when I traveled overseas for the first time as a dancer. I was flown out to Europe for a theater production tour which was a dream come true for me. Not only was I paid well, but I was also treated with real dignity and care. What struck me most was how different things were abroad. In Europe and parts of Asia, dancers and artists are supported by government programs, arts councils, and public funding. There’s infrastructure in place to help artists thrive, not just survive. Street dance culture is organized, respected, and celebrated.
That experience opened my eyes. The issue isn’t the dancers. It’s not the lack of work ethic or talent. The issue is the mindset here in the United States.

We live in a highly corporate, consumer-driven culture that often fails to value the deeper impact of the arts. In the U.S., if you’re a dancer trying to make a living, your options are typically limited to the entertainment industry — commercial work, backup dancing for celebrities, or advertising gigs. And even then, you’re often seen as a tool for selling a product, not as a visionary or a facilitator of transformation.

Meanwhile, in other countries, artists receive grants to create work they truly believe in. They’re viewed as cultural contributors, not just entertainers. Dance is seen as a respected life path, not a hobby. It’s incredibly ironic that street dance was born in the U.S., yet it’s more valued abroad than in its homeland.

If we want to build a thriving ecosystem for creatives here, we need a cultural shift in how we view art. We need to recognize that art is essential — it feeds the soul of society. It heals. It transforms. It builds bridges between people. We need to advocate for the arts to be funded, protected, and prioritized. And we need to educate the public on the value that artists bring to the world — not just through entertainment, but through the profound impact we have on the human spirit.

I dream of a day when dancers are respected on the same level as doctors, lawyers, or even DJs. When the stories, struggles, and contributions of artists are taken seriously. It’s time we speak up, demand more, and take inspiration from countries that treat their artists with the dignity they deserve.
Street dance was born here — it’s time we honor it as the sacred art form it is.

Contact Info:

• Website: http://www.adrianlobo.net/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/adrianlobo333/
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/adrian-miramontes-6a763546/
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@AdrianCM
• Other: https://dancedjediacademy.thinkific.com/