Notes From Jen – Lessons in Every Leap

From Dance Studio to Public Service

By Jen Paul Schroer

Someone asked me at lunch the other day how I got into public service. I smiled and replied, “I was a college dropout.”
It wasn’t because I couldn’t handle college. I did well in school and was even in the National Honor Society. I just didn’t enjoy the college thing. I felt restless, like I was wasting time. I was bored. So I dropped out and started a business. My parents, of course, were less than thrilled at first.

For seven years, I owned a small dance studio where I taught jazz, tap, ballet, pep, and cheer. It was a modest space with a swamp cooler that chugged away in the hot summer months. On those sweltering days, I’d arrive hours before the first class to switch it on, hoping to cool the room just enough for the 3 p.m. start. And the days I didn’t arrive early, I always regretted it.

The dance studio was my world. I still remember the thrill of my first newspaper interview, having a journalist come take photos during my tiny 3-year-old ballet class, all in pink leotards and glittery smiles. Over time, I hired other teachers and learned how to manage and retain employees; figuring out that leadership in a small business is as much about trust and encouragement as it is about schedules, paychecks and accountability.

And then there was my very first dance recital, held in a downtown theater. Two three-year-old twins absolutely refused to go on stage. They screamed so loudly the entire audience could hear them. Parents sighed softly in empathy, chuckled with understanding, and we decided to skip their number so I’d have a few minutes to calm them down. Eventually, the girls agreed to perform—but only if I joined them.

So, I walked them on stage and we danced together to Oh, You Beautiful Doll. Partway through, one girl’s ballet shoe flung off her foot into the air. She sat down and twirled the shoe on her finger. Eventually, she slipped it back on and rejoined the routine smiling ear to ear. When the number ended, the audience erupted in applause and rose to their feet, cheering. In that moment, the entire room felt the unifying power of parenting—cheering not for perfection, but for courage, compassion, and the simple joy of getting through it together.

That first recital taught me more than just choreography. It showed me how patience, flexibility, and humor could carry me through almost anything. And those lessons carried over into every part of running the studio. I learned to build spreadsheets to track tuition payments and calculate break-even points. I developed an annual calendar, produced year-end recitals, and became adept at client relations with my “Dance Moms.” I celebrated national-level wins and endured a few hard knocks along the way. I loved kids, teaching, and dance. But eventually, the physical demands—pulled hamstrings, fractured feet, muscle spasms, and a bad back—made it clear this wasn’t a career I could sustain forever.

I sold the studio and went back to college, earning degrees in Organizational Leadership and Theater/Film. After a short break, I pursued my MBA. This time, I truly enjoyed being in college. With entrepreneurial experience under my belt, the theories and case studies made sense in a way they never had before. More than once, I caught myself wishing I’d known these best practices while running my business; it might have saved me from a few hard lessons.

Many of my professors felt more like mentors and even colleagues. They valued my experience and treated it as an asset, which made learning feel collaborative rather than one-sided. One of those professors recommended me for a position at the university, and that opportunity opened the door to a completely new chapter in community and economic development as a communications director.

From Choreography to Conferences and Collaboration

My new role took me far from the world of dance studios and into initiatives that shaped regions and impacted thousands of lives. I worked on complex projects like the California Partnership for the San Joaquin Valley, tackling everything from economic growth to telehealth to regional water policy, and the Fresno Stewardship Initiative, focused on long-term prosperity for the region. My focus was always on one central question: how can we help people live better lives?

The topics, acronyms, industries, and politics were new, stressful, and intimidating. But the personal fulfillment of contributing to my community and my neighbors made it worth every late night and steep learning curve.

My first major success came when I planned a state conference for hundreds of people. The governor attended, along with state legislators, mayors, and city officials. Coordinating with elected officials and their staff turned out to be far more complex than coordinating with teenage dancers and “Dance Moms.” The political protocol was overwhelming at first—everything from seating charts to security clearances—but when the last speaker took the stage and every detail came together, I was both exhausted and proud.

That leap—from teaching dance and choreography to managing conference logistics and public policy initiatives—showed me that the skills I’d built in my studio were not only transferable but essential. The same ability to adapt quickly, motivate people, and keep multiple moving parts in sync applied in both worlds.

In public service, the criticism cuts deeper because the stakes were higher. Choices weren’t just about a dance routine, costumes and song choices; they were about livelihoods, neighborhoods, and futures. And while that level of accountability is both right and necessary, it can also be emotionally exhausting. For all those public servants with a sensitive nature like mine, hang in there. The scrutiny can often feel heavier than the work itself, but you are appreciated.

I learned the emotional toll of constant public judgment can be heavy—on your confidence, your energy, and your spirit. It takes resilience to keep showing up, knowing that no matter how hard you work, someone will find fault. That became my Achilles heel throughout my career: balancing the drive to serve with the challenge of protecting my own heart.

Why This Matters for Back-to-School Season

As I shared in the last issue, I have since stepped down from public service, and now I’m the “Dance Mom” in the audience—loving every minute of cheering for my daughter from the other side of the stage.

This fall, our family is also taking a leap. We decided to put our kids in a different school this year. It’s the kind of choice that stirs both excitement and a little bit of nervous energy. New teachers, new friends, and new routines like the first few steps of a dance you haven’t quite learned yet.

As our kids head back to school, I think about how my own career path wasn’t a straight line. Sometimes the most valuable lessons don’t come from the classroom—they come from trying, failing, adjusting, and trying again.

Whether your child dreams of being a scientist, a dancer, or something they haven’t yet discovered, remember: every job, hobby, or side project can teach skills that prepare them for a future they (and you) can’t yet imagine. You never know when learning to track payments for a dance recital might be the first step toward leading regional economic initiatives.

Life’s choreography is rarely what we expect, but often exactly what we need. Cheers to another school year and remember: it’s never too late to go back to college.

8 Skills I Learned Running a Dance Studio That Still Help Me Today

1. Budgeting & Financial Management – Understanding every dollar, from tuition payments to costume orders.
2. Event Planning – Coordinating recitals prepared me for conferences and large-scale public events.
3. Customer Service – Listening, problem-solving, and keeping clients happy.
4. Marketing & Promotion – Filling classes taught me how to tell a compelling story.
5. Resilience – Bouncing back from low enrollment seasons or event-day surprises.
6. Team Leadership – Hiring, training, and motivating staff to share a vision.
7. Crisis Management – Handling last-minute cancellations or costume mishaps without losing composure.
8. Community Building – Creating a place where families felt welcome and connected.

Jen Paul Schroer is a dedicated community leader with a proven track record of driving positive change. As a three-time Senate-confirmed cabinet secretary, trade association CEO, and chamber of commerce executive director, Jen has extensive experience in both the public and private sectors. As a wife and mother of two, Jen is deeply committed to improving the local community and supporting the economic well-being of families as the editor and owner of Tumbleweeds magazine and other ventures.