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The best B2B marketing gets wasted on the wrong people. Ever get an ad that makes you wonder if the Internet really knows you? For weeks I was served ads for high performance surfboards. Except I can't surf even though I have tried many times. So when you want to reach the right professionals, use LinkedIn ads. You can target your buyers by job title, industry, company role, seniority skills, company revenue so you can stop wasting budget on the wrong audience. LinkedIn has grown to a network of over 1 billion professionals and 130 million decision makers, and that's where it stands apart from other ad buys. Spend $250 on your first campaign on LinkedIn ads and get a free $250 credit for the next one. Just go to LinkedIn.com TedTalks that's LinkedIn.com TedTalks terms and conditions apply. This episode is sponsored by GrowTherapy. Whatever you're carrying, family conflict, self doubt, sadness that won't quite lift, GrowTherapy is built for that. With thousands of therapists and 90 plus specialties, help is closer than you think. Finding the right therapist shouldn't feel like another task on your to do list. GrowTherapy connects you with licensed professionals across the US offering both virtual and in person sessions. Search by insurance provider, specialty and treatment methods to find someone who truly fits. Not the right match. Switching is easy. No subscriptions, no long term commitments. You just pay per session. Book directly into provider calendars with flexible scheduling, evenings, weekends, whatever works for your life and you can Cancel up to 24 hours in advance at no cost. Whatever challenges you're facing, grow, therapy is here to help. Sessions average about $21 with insurance and some pay as little as nothing depending on their plan. Visit GrowTherapy.com Ted today to get started. That's GrowTherapy.com Ted GrowTherapy.com availability and coverage vary by state and insurance plan. This episode is brought to you by Zapier. We explore a lot of big ideas on this show, and lately AI has been at the center of so many conversations. I find some AI tools incredibly useful, but here's the reality. Talking about AI doesn't transform how you work. For that, you need the right tools. You need Zapier. Zapier helps you move beyond strategy discussions and actually deliver on AI's potential across your organization. Their AI orchestration platform lets you connect powerful AI models like ChatGPT and Claude directly to the tools your team already uses. Whether you're building AI powered workflows, deploying an autonomous agent, creating a customer chatbot or something else. You can orchestrate it with Zapier and it's designed for everyone. Tech expert or not. Join the millions of businesses transforming how they work with Zapier and AI. Get started for free by visiting Zapier.com TED Talks. That's Z-A P I E R.com TED Talks. You're listening to TED Talks Daily, where we bring you new ideas to spark your curiosity every day. I'm your host Elise Hunter Ballerina and activist Misty Copeland made history in 2015 as the first Black woman to become the principal dancer at the American Ballet Theater. And just last month, she gave her farewell performance with the company to a world that she helped reshape. In her talk, she shares the story of what led her here, a story of persistence in spite of constantly being told she didn't belong. Misty makes the case for why movement is crucial and why she is proof that, as she says, resilience can turn pain into beauty and beauty into legacy.
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The first night I danced the Firebird at American Ballet Theater, I wasn't yet a principal dancer. I was still a soloist 12 years into the company, carrying the weight of roles I had dreamed of but not yet been given. My body was in agony. For weeks, I had ignored the deep, aching pain in my leg, convincing myself that it would somehow just go away. But this wasn't just an opportunity for me. It felt bigger than that. I was the first Black woman to perform this role in ABT's history. Dancing the Firebird, for me, was a chance to honor the generations of Black dancers who came before me, dancers who never made it to the stage of the Metropolitan Opera House. It was a chance to prove that future generations could stand on that stage and it could be theirs, too. I wasn't going to let pain steal that. The house was sold out. The energy in the room was undeniable, but the real power was in the people who showed up. It was the most diverse audience the Met had ever seen for a ballet performance. People of every background gathered to witness a Black woman step into the title role in a space that had rarely welcomed anyone who looked like me before. For they weren't just there for a show. They were there for everyone who had ever been told, you don't belong here, everyone who had ever been knocked down or discouraged from pursuing their dream. As I stepped onto the stage, the cheers were so loud I could barely hear the orchestra. Because in that moment, what had always felt impossible was now inevitable. The next morning, I couldn't get out of bed. Every step Sent lightning through my leg. The test results revealed what I had tried to will away. Six stress fractures in my tibia. I had danced an entire performance on a broken leg. Now it's hard to explain the mix of emotions I felt. Pain, yes. But also pride, fear. And an unexpected calm that washed over me. Knowing I had poured everything I had into that role. In giving it my all. I recognized that it was never only about me. And in that moment, I understood something essential. Resilience isn't about being unbreakable. It isn't about pretending the pain isn't there. It's about moving through the pain with purpose, Steadying yourself when the ground shifts beneath you and holding onto calm long enough to keep going. A lesson I would need again and again. That clarity was a far cry from my childhood, where nothing felt certain. My mother raised six of us kids largely on her own. And for much of my childhood, we didn't have a home. We bounced around from motels, sleeping on friends couches, never sure if there would be food on the table, never knowing if we were going to have to change schools the next day. So as a child, I just assumed everyone had what I craved the most. The one thing that felt so out of reach for me, and that was stability. I kept people at a distance. I didn't want anyone to know what we were going through. At home. I carried this quiet shame and this loneliness so heavy that I barely spoke. I mean, my nickname was Mouse. I suffered from fierce migraines that would stop me dead in my tracks. And then, at 13, late by every standard, I touched a ballet bar for the first time. It wasn't in a studio. It was on a basketball court at the San Pedro Boys and Girls Club, in my gym clothes and socks. But the moment my hand rested there on that bar, something shifted inside me. For the first time, my body released its tension. The music, the movement, the discipline, it all gave me consistency, a rhythm to hold onto. My migraines disappeared. My posture straightened. My confidence began to flicker awake. Ballet made me feel alive and like I had purpose. It gave me stability when nothing else around me was stable. It taught me how to quiet the storm inside me and how to channel pain into artistry. It gave me the resilience to survive and, in time, truly thrive. But ballet was not always the safe place I hoped it would be. I was the only black woman in a company of more than 80 dancers. And for all the stability and belonging I had discovered early on in ballet, I also had to face the reality that this art form shaped centuries ago in European courts, was not originally intended for people who looked like me. In my third year as a corps de valet member, the decision was made to exclude me from a filmed production of Swan Lake because I was told my brown skin would disrupt the aesthetic. Hearing those words cut deeper than I can describe in a single sentence. Everything I loved about ballet, the beauty, the discipline, the stability it had given me, was turned against me. I stood in the studio surrounded by my peers, but I felt utterly invisible. I went home devastated, questioning whether this was truly a place for me to be in this world of ballet and that I had dedicated myself to. And yet, the next morning, I came back to the studio, and not because I felt strong, but because I feared if I walked away, the door might close forever. And not just for me, but for anyone who might follow. Resilience in that moment was not grand. It was quiet. It was showing up again, even when my heart was broken. More than a decade later, it was that same ballet, that dam Swan Lake, that gave me one of the most powerful moments of my career, a triumph built on the resilience I had relied on long before. Back when showing up despite setbacks felt impossible, I was given the opportunity to perform the Swan Queen, the lead role in Swan Lake, one of the most iconic roles in a ballerina's repertoire. By then, I was already a public figure, but still stepping into that role with a kind of pressure that was far from normal for most ballerinas. When most dancers debut a principal role, the New York Times doesn't review them before they've even stepped on stage. There aren't articles declaring that if they can't perform a sequence of 32 fouettes perfectly, they don't deserve a promotion. But that was my reality. Before I even danced a step, my worth was being debated in print. Every headline reminded me that I wasn't being judged solely on my artistry or my technique, but also on the fact that I was a black woman standing in a role where no black woman at abt had stood before. And yet, in that pressure, I returned to what ballet had always been for me. A language of artistry, a way to tell stories, a place to find calm and beauty when the world could be anything. But when the day finally came to debut as the Swan Queen, Raven Wilkinson was in the audience. Raven had been the first black woman to dance in a major American ballet company, the Ballet Russes de Monte Carlo, in the 1950s, performing across segregated America while facing threats from the Ku Klux Klan she never imagined. And she told me this several times. I never imagined I would see a black woman in this role. And at my curtain call, she walked on stage and placed flowers in my hands. For both of us, it was a moment of transformation. A stage that had once literally shut her out. She was not allowed to dance on that stage was now a stage that we could stand on together. Resilience had turned pain into beauty and beauty into legacy. In 2015, I was promoted to principal dancer at American Ballet Theater, the first black woman in the company's 75 year history. But resilience doesn't end with achievement. It asks what now? For me, it meant expanding the stage beyond the Opera House through the Misty Copeland foundation, bringing ballet into communities that once felt excluded. Dancing with Prince, someone who definitely helped me to expand the audience that we were reaching through ballet, through books, giving children stories they could see themselves through, through film. Showing movement as a universal language. Attempting to create new spaces for beauty to take root and ensuring the stage is wide enough for others to step onto has been a small way to offer others the strength and support to discover their own resilience, to build it and to store it for the moments they would need it most. So if you remember nothing else from my story, remember resilience doesn't require an easy beginning or a perfect ending. It's about persistence and showing up again and again. It's the quiet decision to return to rehearsal after rejection, to rise when the world says you don't belong. To create beauty even when the ground beneath you is unsteady. That is the resilience that ballet gave me. And resilience is a skill we can all draw on. One that belongs to anyone, anywhere, whenever it is needed. Thank you.
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That was Misty Copeland at TED Next 2025. If you're curious about TED's curation, find out more@ted.com curationguidelines and that's it for today. TED Talks Daily is part of the TED Audio Collective. This talk was fact checked by the TED research team and produced and edited by our team, Martha Estefanos, Oliver Friedman, Brian Greene, Lucy Little and Tansika Sangmarni Vong. This episode was mixed by Christopher Faizy Bogan. Additional support from Emma Tobner and Daniela Balarazo. I'm Elise Hu. I'll be back tomorrow with a fresh idea for your feed. Thanks for listening.
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Episode: How I found resilience through artistry | Misty Copeland
Date: December 2, 2025
Speaker: Misty Copeland
Host Introduction: Elise Hu
In this powerful TED Talk, ballet icon Misty Copeland recounts her extraordinary journey toward becoming the first Black female principal dancer at the American Ballet Theatre (ABT). Through honest storytelling, she explores how she discovered and forged resilience through her artistry, overcoming adversity, exclusion, and personal pain to break barriers in a historically exclusive world. Copeland makes a compelling case for the transformative power of movement and the quiet, persistent strength that true resilience demands.
(03:54 – 06:13)
(06:19 – 08:29)
(08:30 – 09:22)
(09:23 – 12:13)
(12:14 – 13:43)
(13:44 – 14:45)
(14:45 – 15:45)
On the night of “The Firebird”:
“For they weren’t just there for a show. They were there for everyone who had ever been told, you don’t belong here…” — Misty Copeland (04:54)
Defining resilience:
“Resilience isn’t about being unbreakable. It isn’t about pretending the pain isn’t there. It’s about moving through the pain with purpose, steadying yourself when the ground shifts beneath you, and holding onto calm long enough to keep going.” — Misty Copeland (06:13)
On returning after exclusion:
“Resilience in that moment was not grand. It was quiet. It was showing up again, even when my heart was broken.” — Misty Copeland (11:00)
The transformation of the stage with Raven Wilkinson:
“A stage that had once literally shut her out… was now a stage that we could stand on together. Resilience had turned pain into beauty and beauty into legacy.” — Misty Copeland (13:15)
Final takeaway:
“Resilience doesn’t require an easy beginning or a perfect ending. It’s about persistence and showing up again and again.” — Misty Copeland (15:17)
Misty Copeland’s TED Talk is both a deeply personal memoir and a universal call to action. Her open stories of vulnerability, determination, and artistry underscore that resilience is accessible to everyone—not a loud, heroic act, but sometimes the simply quiet act of showing up, again and again, until beauty emerges from pain. Through her actions on stage and beyond it, Copeland has expanded the meaning of legacy, ensuring that many more voices—especially those historically excluded—can find both their artistry and resilience.