We Are Not Stuck
The movement of reaching out, even when I don't want to
Welcome to Vera Monstera! 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. It means the world that you’re here!
I am stuck. I am not stuck.
Here’s the inner monologue: “aughhhh!”
If I wrote this with Rose Colored Glasses, or as Perfect Future Me writing down to Lowly Present Moment Me, I would say, “Breathe, you lowly creature. Each breath is another chance. Breathe deeply. Put your thoughts in little paper boats and watch them slide down the river of your consciousness.”
To which the inner monologue says: “AUGGGGHHHHHHH! #$@#$!@#!$!#$!#!$”
I don’t have anything to say today. I have been avoiding writing because the juice isn’t there. I wouldn’t know a full breath if it hit me in the face.
Non-helpful inner Monologue: “iamthebestiamtheworst. ivegotthisidontgotthis.”
I am a bee trailed closely by winter. Or I am a mom filming a bee crawling over the rocks after fighting with my kid while climbing a giant hill. The rain washed away almost everything. We sit on the wet curb. We talk about handling things we don’t expect. We talk about disappointment. We talk about fear and envy. I hear myself saying, “we’ve got to figure out how to handle this,” and I realize I don’t have my own ways to handle these things.
The bee (facing her own challenges), pulls us out of the funk. Where is she going? How can we help her?
I am stuck. I am not stuck.
The writing isn’t happening. That’s no surprise. That happens. So I’m looking elsewhere. I take photos and hide them, then find them later.
I hate this, but I say this. And I’ve said this before. Reach out and the space will hold you up. It’s a way to help a dancer connect their body to their environment. Right now, you are the dancer, okay? It’s a way for you to organize yourself in relation to the world. It squashes your wet noodle approach to standing in a room. There’s a difference between holding your arm out to the side and connecting your arm to your core and tethering it to the edges of the room. Or the edge of stage. Or the edge of the known universe.
It’s the key to balance. It’s the key to presence. It’s the key to connection. Reach out and the space will hold you up. Like marionette strings held by hope. An invisible architecture holds you up.
“How can I help?” asks my friend Cat while we walk.
I am stuck. I am not stuck.
Reach out and the space will hold you up. Walk through it. Walk through the world. Cling to gardens. Cheer on the plants. See the drama of furling and unfurling.
I am stuck. I am not stuck.
Oh, right. Stillness. There’s stillness. Essential. The movement between the movement. There is so much motion in stillness. Breath. Yes, even the breath I shunned a few paragraphs ago. I could write for days and days about stillness. I could go on and on about all the micro movements inside stillness. The theatrical importance of stillness. The actual real-life importance of stillness.
But something is clanging at the door. What’s next? I feel as though I’m not moving, and I’m not still. I’m merely (thoroughly) restless. How do I knock down this door? Is there even a door? I’m stalking the perimeter, overrun with vigilance for threats that aren’t there. Tired and numb.
My energy is sucked away by imaginary vigilance. Here is Dylan Thomas via Anne Lamott via me: Thomas traveled in an old propeller plane and said, upon arrival, “I’m exhausted from trying to hold the plane up in the air.”
Vigilance isn’t helping. And the other side of that is shutting down. Here’s Questlove to Trevor Noah to me: “I’ve learned that worrying is literally praying to be sabotaged.”
What if I just open the door? What’s there? Fun art? Friends? More words than I know what to do with? Dance parties?
I’ll open the door tomorrow. I’m choosing stillness right now. Not moving, but invisible things are happening.
I am stuck. I am not stuck.
Life is in the in-between-i-tudes. The purgatory. The interstitial substances or lack thereof. Inside the ( ).
It’s all shaky ground. It’s all change. You’re a milkweed seed ready to take to the sky. The silky strands you’re on are shaking. The stalks the strands are on are shaking. Of course you’re shaking, too. You’re holding on, but there’s nothing to hold.
Reach out into space so it holds you up. Like the golden record hurling through space with evidence of earthlings singing scratched into the surface. You just don’t know who it’s gonna hit.
THANKS & LOVE! Music for this piece by Tim Parrott.
Are you still reading? Great!
CALLING ALL PARENTS! How would you feel about a monthly movement series for kids here at Vera Monstera? I’m thinking fun movement prompts that kids can take into the world and share with friends. Leave me a comment or message me or throw me a thumbs up across space and time.
How would the prompt work? Would it be something to read to my kids? Or just memorize the gist and bounce around together?