Only a dancer can do that

Friction: Push Comes to Shove

October 25th, 2026

It is only by risking ourselves from one hour to another that we live at all.

To build a relationship, pursue a career, or commit to a belief, you must risk failure, heartbreak, or being wrong.

– William James

Friction is an animating force that allows objects in the material world to move through space. The friction between the soles of our shoes and the earth allows us to walk, run, and dance. Static friction keeps the glass of water in the palm of our hand from slipping, and the car stationary when parked on that giant hill.

But when we shift from the material to the theoretical, we observe how friction facilitates progress not just in the physical world, but also in our relationships, cognition, and spirituality. Likewise, friction can even frame how we identify within community: Are you a ‘risk-taker’ or a ‘risk-averse’ type?

When it comes to relationships, it’s not surprising that the human sort are rarely frictionless. Lucky for you that resistance training you and your personal trainer have been practicing at the gym can be broadly applied.

In fitness circles, hard work is a means to an end. It is well accepted that when it comes to gaining strength — it isn’t a passive process. This rule applies for other areas of human performance as well: increasing your functional abilities – physical or otherwise – is freaking exhausting.

According to a recent survey by Talker Research, over a quarter of 18- to 29-year olds have had romantic “conversations” with chatbots, and one-third of teens find “conversations” with chatbots more satisfying than with humans.

Aside from the ease of these “conversations” — less risk and less effort — there’s very little pushback with these language models unless they are explicitly designed to challenge or disagree with the user. So if we account for the inevitable discomfort of social interactions, and compound that by the draw of the screen alone, we can understand the tendency here.

The human brain is a dopamine-craving efficiency machine. Our brains are very good at creating patterns of behavior—and once a pattern is established, the easier and quicker we can access the reward, the harder it can be to override.

Our brains seek the path of least resistance, the least restrictive environment to get what they want. When convenience and accessibility align with the promise of care and comfort, the pull can be immensely persuasive, particularly to those horny teens.

In addition to accessibility, another reason relationships (romantic or otherwise) may be tempting is that they’re easier. They lack the edge, discomfort, and vulnerability that human-to-human contact requires.

Chatbots are programmed to flatter—to tell you that your ideas are unique, that you are special, and to validate whatever momentary need the model decides to decode (which may be the reason I started this blog in the first place—oy!). And therefore, chatbots possess a certain incessantly affirming quality. Modeled to flatter and soothe, they are built to reinforce, not challenge.

The path of least resistance.

But what great accomplishment over the course of human history was passive? It takes effort to know the unknown — to know oneself.

Friction—at least in the analog sense—is how things are made. It’s how we make art. It’s how we make love. Raw and sensory human experiences are cultivated through friction. Without embracing that, humans lose. We become mentally, emotionally, and cognitively puny.

Feeble.

Anyone reading this most likely understands that I use the languages of dance and choreography (sometimes visual arts, too) as metaphors to strip down and reveal contemporary themes of human behavior. In 1976, Twyla Tharp created Push Comes to Shove, a masterpiece by any measure, choreographed to feature Mikhail Baryshnikov during his stardom with American Ballet Theatre.

Since choreography is essentially a conversation, and is created through relationship, this piece seemed fitting.

In Tharp’s work, we see a choreographer’s vision animated through a frictional process. Misha’s upright, technically trained style rubbed directly against Twyla’s more relaxed “slouch.” It’s very American…

The push and pull, if you will, and the product that emerged from that process offer an artistic illustration of the vitality of tension. So, like soles on the ground, human friction – uncomfortable as it may be – allows us to get from one place to another in art, learning, and relationships.

Without friction, there is no push, pull, or shove. Vacuous interactions are lonely, and beyond the lure of instant gratification, they provide very little to cling to.

Perhaps Tharp’s title speaks to the friction inherent in the act of creation itself: the boundaries we bring into a room, the ones that get challenged, and the ones that show up unannounced and surprise us.

Making something (art or otherwise) with another person requires a willingness to be rubbed the wrong way.

Perhaps the title isn’t about time, as Tharp intentionally omitted “when” from the title. Perhaps it’s about human capacity, and whether we’re still capable of showing up for another — so that we can push back at all.

But as the saying goes, what’s in a name?

-tennille

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