Maya, 26

I started dancing before I could properly talk. My mother tells the story at every family dinner: I was two years old, standing in front of the television, swaying to the music of a commercial, completely serious about it. At five I was in ballet class in our neighborhood in Lyon; at ten I was the kid who practiced pliés in the kitchen while waiting for dinner; at sixteen I was dancing six days a week and wondering if I could actually make a life of it. Dance was never a hobby for me — it was the way I understood the world.

I am 26 now and I am a dance teacher in Lyon, teaching contemporary dance and ballet to everyone from six-year-olds in their first tutus to adults who always dreamed of dancing and finally decided to try. My studio is in the Croix-Rousse, that hilltop neighborhood of old silk-weavers’ workshops with the high ceilings and the light that dancers dream about. Teaching is the best decision I ever made. Performing was beautiful, but teaching is deeper: watching a shy teenager find her confidence through movement, or a retired woman discover she can still learn a pirouette at sixty. Every class reminds me why I fell in love with this art.

Lyon is a wonderful city for a dancer. It has a real dance culture — the Maison de la Danse, the biennale, companies rehearsing in old warehouses. When I am not teaching, I am usually taking class myself, because a dancer who stops training stops growing. My mornings start early: stretching, a run along the Rhône, then a boulangerie stop for a pain aux céréales on the way to the studio. Lyon is also, famously, the food capital of France, and living here means you eat well without even trying. The bouchons — those traditional Lyonnais restaurants — are institutions: tablier de sapeur, quenelles, tarte aux pralines, that shocking pink praline tart that I cannot resist. Sunday mornings I go to the market on the Quai Saint-Antoine, along the Saône, and buy whatever is beautiful: cheese from a farm in the Beaujolais, vegetables, a roast chicken. Then I cook for friends, because a long Sunday lunch is sacred.

My weekends have their own choreography. Saturday nights might mean a performance at the Maison de la Danse, or dancing myself — salsa socials in the Guillotière, where the music goes until 2am and nobody cares if you are a beginner. Sundays are slower: brunch, a walk up to the Basilica of Fourvière for the view over the whole city, the two rivers shining below. And the apéritif, of course — Lyon does it with charcuterie, a glass of Beaujolais, friends gathered on a terrace in the Vieux Lyon as the Renaissance buildings turn gold. In summer, the banks of the Rhône become one long picnic: everyone brings food, someone brings a guitar, and the evening stretches until the light fades.

I am disciplined but playful — years of dance training will do that. I am expressive, warm, and I notice body language the way other people notice words. I am the friend who will drag you onto a dance floor and the one who will sit with you quietly when you need it. I am looking for a partner who is not afraid to move — literally or in life. You do not need to be a dancer, but I want someone who will try: a salsa class with me, a spontaneous dance in the kitchen, a willingness to be a beginner at something. Someone curious, kind, and alive, who loves good food and long evenings and who understands that the body keeps the score — that how we move through the world matters. If you can laugh at yourself while learning a basic step, we will be just fine.

There is more to me than the studio, though. I am an avid reader — dance biographies, novels, poetry — and I go to the theater whenever I can, not just dance performances. I have a small vegetable garden on my balcony: tomatoes, herbs, and one very ambitious zucchini plant. I am also the designated organizer among my friends — weekend trips to Annecy, picnics, birthday surprises — because choreography is a life skill, not just a stage skill. Once a year, I dance in a charity gala that raises money for children’s arts programs, and it is the performance I care about most. My dream is to one day open my own school with classes for everyone, especially for kids who cannot afford them, because dance changed my life and I want to pass that on. I am looking for someone who will be in the front row at that gala, cheering the loudest — and who will dance with me in the living room afterward, no audience required.