In New York’s dance community, Peter’s path is a familiar one—starting from a high school dance team, moving through crews, choreography, directing, and competitions, eventually becoming a director of Project D.

But what truly changed his relationship with dance didn’t happen during those years—it happened after he walked away from all of it.

A Dream Without a Roadmap

Peter didn’t grow up in the kind of environment that guarantees a path into dance. Born in Korea, raised between Michigan and New York, his early relationship with movement wasn’t formalized—it was more of a quiet, distant pull.

“I think I always had an interest,” he recalls. “Like a dream… maybe auditioning for YG or something. But when you’re a kid, you don’t really know how to pursue that.”

There was no clear entry point, no roadmap. Just fragments of influence, glimpses of possibility. So, like many dancers of his generation, he found his way in through something almost accidental.

A high school audition. A performance team. A style that, at the time, didn’t even quite know what to call itself.

Over the next decade, dance became less of an experiment and more of a commitment. Teams replaced classrooms. Rehearsals replaced casual interest. Eventually, Peter stepped into leadership, directing Project D. It’s also where roles begin to solidify.

Leader. Choreographer. Mentor.

And then, one day, he walked away.

I’m no longer on a team. I’m a free agent now.

That’s how Peter describes himself now. No team affiliation. No obligation to produce. For the first time in over a decade, dance is no longer tied to responsibility.

After leaving his team, he stopped for a while. No choreography. Fewer classes. Minimal dancing.

Because leaving a team after years of building within it isn’t just a logistical shift—it’s an identity rupture. The kind that forces uncomfortable questions:

Who are you when you’re not needed in the same way?What does dance look like for you when no one is asking you to create?

For Peter, the answer wasn’t immediate. It still isn’t. But there’s something intentional in the uncertainty.

“Everything I created before was for competition, for the stage, for the team,” he says. “And that slowly changes how you see dance—you stop doing it for yourself. Now I’m just figuring it out,” he says. “Dancing on my own terms.”

Leaving Google and Launching “Dance Club”

Outside of dance, Peter was a software engineer at Google.

He took severance and left the job a year ago. He considered returning to tech—but when it came time to prepare for interviews, something became clear: “I didn’t want it anymore.”

So he made a decision many people thought about, but didn’t act on: he chose to build something for dance.

The idea started with a simple frustration:

Why is booking in dance so manual and so difficult?

So he started building a platform that began with studio rentals, then expanded toward pop-up class booking, aiming to streamline the entire experience.

More importantly, he made a conscious choice:

He didn’t want to profit by exploiting dancers.

“Dancers already struggle enough,” he says. “I don’t want to be another person taking from them.”

We all have a responsibility in dance

“If you’re in this space, the problems you see might be the ones you’re meant to solve.”

A developer builds platforms.

A director creates work.

A dancer expresses.

A storyteller documents.

Dance has never been just about the people on stage.

It’s a system—and it’s still being built. And we can all contribute in our own terms.

Follow

Peter Lee: ins @peterlee__Dance Club: ins@dnceclub_Host: ins@ruijingshu rednote @theTryGirlPodcast: apple podcast小宇宙

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thetrygirl.substack.com