Monsters Go

The Movement of Missing a Moment

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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).