Moving into Self-Care
I’m consistently on the lookout for activities with low barriers to entry. A velvet rope is a turn-off. I don’t identify as an iconoclast, or as the person in high school perfectly put it, an anti-snob snob. Or maybe I am! Mainly, I don’t want artificial, usually self-constructed walls to keep me from self expression and joy, and I instinctively fight against anything that precludes others from practicing true self-fulfillment. A dancer is simply someone who dances, for instance. Training is lovely, but it’s not a requirement, just as an English degree has nothing to do with being a writer.
A ratio of structure versus freedom inspires me to create and to move, whether it’s my fingers on a keyboard or my body in space. For me, completely unbounded free-form usually causes awkward self-consciousness. Unnecessarily untethered, I feel “at a loss,” in a deficit from the get-go. Whereas I’m sparked by a starting place, or prompt to choose to follow or consider, even if I discard it.
The same holds true for physical expression, otherwise known as exercise, one of the dullest thuds of a word in our language, in terms of definition. For fun I looked up its etymology and sure enough, its root meaning can be interpreted as “busywork” (Latin exercere ‘keep busy’). The further breakdown of the word (ex- ‘thoroughly’ + arcere ‘keep in or away’) is fascinating: What are we keeping in or away from ourselves so thoroughly through roteness and no-pain-no-gain?
As I’ve written about in terms of meaning-making, I perceive expression as the most enduring and authentic form of self-care. The most challenging part is not lack of talent, or the unfitness of the available materials—language, paint, etc—to perfectly match “what we want to express” (hint: this misalignment yields unexpected gifts more often than not). It’s not time, since I’ve taught writing classes that include prompts to write for one minute (try “they said,...” as a 1-2 minute prompt). It might be a lack of community, as co-creation or parallel creation has accountability baked in. More than anything, it’s that we have such little free time, and we usually use our leisure to disconnect as rest, rather than to dip our cupped hands into the river of our thoughts. What if there’s a way to both disconnect and connect simultaneously?
For me, I achieve this dual-direction through a kind of dance called Nia. We’re lucky there are Nia classes offered in Santa Monica: five classes/month (every Wed 9-10 am and the second Sunday of the month 9-10 am) at the Pretenders Studio. Taught by two sisters, Colette Sherouse and Cheryl Byrne, Nia assumes everyone is a dancer by nature of being human, just as the method of writing I facilitate, Amherst Writers and Artists, presupposes everyone is a creative genius as our birthright. There is a community, there is music we can shout along to if the spirit moves us, there are steps we can copy/paste or adapt to our mood and what feels good. One can sit in a chair and do Nia; one can pirouette, leap, or do back handsprings during a Nia class.
Susanne Conrad, a life coach, brought Nia to Santa Monica. For years, Colette, also a life coach, resisted taking a class. Finally, she did, and instantly wanted to share it with others. She roped one of her sisters, Cheryl, in; they both took the teacher-training. Now there were three instructors in Santa Monica, offering classes five days/week from Susanne’s garage. Working mothers with young children at the time, Colette and Cheyrl became the community leaders they are today by doing a doable amount often. Fifteen plus years later, their lives have a different shape, but week after week, consistently include learning new routines, practicing cues, and choreographing movement to their chosen music, interweaving Nia’s predominantly world music with classic rock and pop songs.
I took the Nia instructor training, but enjoyed being a student too much to teach. Through movement (I call it the hour-long Caribbean vacation of a Nia class), I wanted to disconnect from the rest of my day by subconsciously delving into my deepest core. Never to be exactly repeated, the process of a Nia class has a similar energy to blowing dandelion puffs into the wind. Or the time I set up a booth at the Davis Farmers Market and for ten bucks, took orders for poems I wrote on paper plates in a few minutes that I never saw again.
Something recently shifted, inspiring me to teach my own Nia classes. People are asking for more chances to move together as a community, especially after the fires. Colette and Cheryl are eager to mentor me, which I realized is what I’ve needed all along to get over the fear of the performance part. When the teacher is ready, the students appear. Bahala members will be the first to know about my classes. In the meantime, let’s dance imperfectly and joyfully through our lives in whatever fun, odd, serious, dandelion shapes it takes. For keeps.