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Movement is Everywhere. Come see the dance in everything. Step into an embodied world where life springs from the power of play and slow-osity. What’s that? It’s like velocity, but instead of speeding in one direction, we’ll dive into spacious, internal rhythms. No destinations, but lots of sights to see. Let’s begin…
I missed something. It was right in front of me. It was predictable and probably forgivable—parenting and teaching from home at the beginning of a world pandemic. But still, I missed it.
I was recording a video that certainly no student ever watched. That was predictable and very forgivable. Students had better things to do at the time. Like worry.
I was gearing up to teach dance remotely (which is as easy as knitting when your yarn is on the other side of a brick wall). But before that, during the longest spring break ever, I enjoyed sending movement missives out into the ether. I think they brought more comfort to me than anyone else.
I’ll share one of these videos with you. Not because anyone watched it—like I said, no one did. And not because it’s great—like I said, I missed something. Or shall I say someone.
At the top of the video, I’m busy narrating my warm-up. There’s a necessary element of autopilot. At the same time, I try to balance that with the internal, physical magic of movement. If I’m not “in it,” the teaching dries up. I won’t be the first to point out that the first ingredient of art-making is play. Any great improviser will tell you that you have to stay present. Let’s be clear, though. I’m not saying I’m a great improviser. A lifelong lover of spontaneity, I don’t always follow its call.
You’ll see me talking through my favorite hip-opener from my time studying yoga with J. Brown. When I teach it, I usually describe it as a “monster playing a piano.” My approach (pat on the back) is witty and charming. Consider yourself charmed. I am the picture of peace, summoning all of my dance teaching tactics and my yoga teaching voice.
Enter stage left (her left, not yours) a little assistant. She’s witty and charming. I am charmed. She’s following along, open to the moment, absorbing everything. No surprise, she’s the comic relief of the whole operation. The spontaneity. The Stan to my Ollie.
I smile, but I don’t “yes and.” I miss her inner narrator telling me this is totally boring. I, in effect, ignore her. Exit stage right. Her right.
I missed the moment to stay present to the person right in front of me. I don’t know what would have happened if I said yes. My loss. Maybe a better duet? Better parenting? Going off script? A genuine lesson? She was the only student I had that day.
Yes, there’s the whole kids-teach-parents thing. The time-flies thing. And the enjoy-it-while-it-lasts thing. But it’s hard to stay “in it” when “it” is life and you’re up to your eyeballs in “it.” But the next time I ask monsters to play the piano, I hope I notice when they show up with a song and dance.
It’s not always easy to stay awake to those who enter the frame. Especially when the camera is trained on us. I look up and it’s more than four years later. I did miss moments, teaching and parenting. But not all of them. There were lots of moments when I was awake and laughing and crying and “in it.” Those I’ll hold on to forever. I hope my sidekick will, too. She’s the main event, anyway.
While I write this, I’m missing a moment right this second. School is in session and my kid is teaching. Literally. We’re playing school. And she’s helping me write a story. I just have to shut up and listen.
And here, out in the world, are a few monsters who are “in it.”
Music is “The Process of Leaving” by E. VAX and “Not One, A Zero” by Grant Wood ex Machina (D. Scott DiPerna).
I can hear your voice in this writing and it is true and real and speaks to me so much more than you know. You are as fierce and competitive as any of us, but have an artistic side that I admire and wish I had.
Also, Zinnia does rule!
Zinnia rules !