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Movement is Everywhere. 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 dive into spacious, internal rhythms. No destinations, but lots of sights to see. Let’s begin…
I have a lot of things to tell you.
It’s long list. A messy, annotated list of essays yet to be. Little baby idea fragments and unedited, longhand craziness. There are tirades about dance being academic (it is) and whimsical nonsense about a Hugsuit (it’s exactly what it sounds like).
We’ll get to all that in good time. Or we won’t. But this week, it was time to stop ignoring my body. It’s the end of summer and the end of my long, self-imposed hiatus from dedicated moment practice.
Spending so much time writing is amazing, but it’s heady—literally and figuratively. This is good for my writing, bad for my body. But bad for my body means, ultimately, bad for the writing. I’ve got a bad habit of curling over my laptop in various…um…let’s call them “un-examined lounge-like states”…on the couch or stacked across two chairs. Right now, my torso is squished back into a non-supportive pillow. My heart is slouched one way, my head is facing another direction and my legs dangle like they’re not connected to either of those things. And I’m wondering why I don’t feel so hot? Come on now.
My heart is clanking inside a mile a minute. Anxiety is abuzz with her frenzied swirl. And I know that’s not my path to magic. Sometimes, I just have to throw myself down on the floor and RELAX GODDAMMIT. Like a tired, cranky kid, sometimes I don’t notice what I need until it’s too late. Most of the time, I need a snack or several. But a lot of the time, I just gotta lie down.
When I used to teach yoga, there were certainly days when I felt off, anxious, down or all of the above. In fact, I got nervous every time I stood in front of a class. After worrying about it too much, the thing that always got me through (which got us all through—because that was my job), was doing what I needed in that moment.
I would slow my pace to the pace I needed. I steadied myself with soothing repetitions until the experience of repeating the same thing over and over again brought about a new feeling. I leaned into silliness and the rhythms of play—whatever the moment called for, because I was calling the shots. I listened to what my body needed and did as I was told. I got pretty good at that.
I selfishly did what I needed because otherwise my little system might collapse. And it was always after those kinds of classes when someone would come up and thank me. There is something about physically moving through what you need that speaks to other people. And I’m learning that writing through what you need has a similar effect.
What do you need?
Yesterday, I had to stop the presses, lie down and move myself back into existence. I had to move and breathe myself into a shape that resembled me again. I crumpled myself to the ground, swung my legs up the wall and dug into a repertoire of movements that slow me down. Yes, I was probably still listening to a podcast. But then I switched to an atmospheric soundscape. And then I turned it all off and thought I’d share this with you.
GET ON THE FLOOR AND BREATHE!
Ahem, if you want to. Here’s a video of what I needed yesterday and still need today. Probably tomorrow, too. This could be a done standing, sitting in a chair or crashed out on a couch. For real, for real.
Whew. I feel better. But I’ll be back to my jittery ways, won’t I? And I’ll try to remember to do exactly what I need in that moment. Well, I know I’m not listening to myself, but maybe you are?
Hey, while I have you here…what do you think is going on here? At Vera Monstera. What is this to you? I would love to know. I think I might be writing what I need and hoping it resonates out there, wherever you are. Out. There.
Here we go, eh?
It’s tricky to be the captain of a ship I don’t understand. And fun! I’m heading up this Substack as an astronaut new to every spacewalk. I couldn’t handle social media, but this feels life-giving. It’s for me and it’s for you. It’s for people who want to slow down, dream a bit, dip into the absurd and connect in a world where we are constantly communicating but not saying anything.
This writing is a practice and a process. As much as I preach the benefits of those things, it’s hard to open things up for public view. So thank you for making this a safe landing space for me. I named it Vera Monstera and I stuck it on the old interwebaroo. But you continue to read these wild essays and say nice things and—no small exaggeration—keep me going.
I think part of all of this is making tangible all the “speeches” I tried to make in yoga or dance classes. The ones that were on my mind and in my heart, but the pace of class was going too fast. Here, we can slow that process down (and if you know me by now, you know I’m totally into slow). I don’t have to call out left leg or right arm while I’m teaching you an epic lesson. Because I’ve learned I can’t teach you an epic lesson. That’s not the point.
People came into my classes with all kinds of life’s calamities. I couldn’t fix a one. Yours, too.
But I can sit next to you.
Here we go. I’m all ears…