Getting physical: it’s all dance to me

Movement comes from the inside out, not from the outside in. At least that’s my truth. Someone asked me once how I decided to dance to a particular piece of music. “It’s not up to me,” I said. “It’s up to the music.”  Let the music in and out the movement comes. You’ve got to keep self out of the way. In other words, don’t interrupt.

Movement: a form of dance like jazz, ballet, modern, a form of what society calls exercise or sport: running, swimming, climbing mountains, hiking, biking, walking, kissing, love making… hell, it’s  all dance to me. I’ve seen definitions of dance I like such as, to perform or take part in as a dancer, and, to bring into a specified condition by dancing. These help me understand why, when live wounds or rewards deeply, getting physical is inherently part of my response. When my mother committed suicide in 1992 I ran two marathons in two weeks in 1993. When my daughter was born, I could’ve danced forever.

Of late, swimming is my “dance floor” and  get-physical refuge, though I’m eyeing some challenges on my bike (summiting Mt. Greylock, Massachusetts’ tallest peak at a modest 3,491 feet) and a few others  I’m keeping off the page (for now).  I’m quietly joyous about my relationship with swimming. I can swim a mile freestyle now. For me this is a big deal. It was fall 2012 when I (finally!) decided to face my fear of water, deep over-my-head water.  Now when life wounds or rewards I’m in the water early morning, churning through, moving, dancing all the way. That movement experience when body, spirit, mind, heart and soul are one.

No better place to be fully alive than in the moment, the only place you have to be, in the moment.

Getting physical: it’s all dance to me

Movement comes from the inside out, not from the outside in. At least that’s my truth. Someone asked me once how I decided to dance to a particular piece of music. “It’s not up to me,” I said. “It’s up to the music.”  Let the music in and out the movement comes. You’ve got to keep self out of the way. In other words, don’t interrupt.

Movement: a form of dance like jazz, ballet, modern, a form of what society calls exercise or sport: running, swimming, climbing mountains, hiking, biking, walking, kissing, love making… hell, it’s  all dance to me. I’ve seen definitions of dance I like such as, to perform or take part in as a dancer, and, to bring into a specified condition by dancing. These help me understand why, when live wounds or rewards deeply, getting physical is inherently part of my response. When my mother committed suicide in 1992 I ran two marathons in two weeks in 1993. When my daughter was born, I could’ve danced forever.

Of late, swimming is my “dance floor” and  get-physical refuge, though I’m eyeing some challenges on my bike (summiting Mt. Greylock, Massachusetts’ tallest peak at a modest 3,491 feet) and a few others  I’m keeping off the page (for now).  I’m quietly joyous about my relationship with swimming. I can swim a mile freestyle now. For me this is a big deal. It was fall 2012 when I (finally!) decided to face my fear of water, deep over-my-head water.  Now when life wounds or rewards I’m in the water early morning, churning through, moving, dancing all the way. That movement experience when body, spirit, mind, heart and soul are one.

No better place to be fully alive than in the moment, the only place you have to be, in the moment.

Anna, Emily & A Little Bit of Jazz

They are like jazz. Two sisters with colorful personalities packed with formidable supplies of creativity, intelligence and courage, who are truly good and decent people.

I fell in love with their mother last year. She too is like jazz. When the jazz trio is together (and when they are not, come to think of it) the closeness between them is palpable and this is because they are safe being who they are with each other. Challenges faced are seen and treated as experiences to be managed and resolved, not as opportunities to judge, damage, control or abandon each other. The deep love between these three people flourishes because it rides the wave of acceptance.

No relationship of any kind can be a healthy one if the people in the relationship can’t be who they fully are in the relationship. When I watch Anna and Emily, the glow of the joy they experience with each other is so strong I’m pretty sure I can read by their light. When they’re with their mother the glow is so strong I can read by it, but need to wear sunglasses.

I know there may be some who flinch and recoil when they learn someone they’ve fallen in love with has children. Not me. Falling in love with their mother, Christine, was like discovering this extraordinary landscape in life. Discovering and meeting her two daughters was like discovering this extraordinary landscape has two beautiful lakes on it. I am a lucky and blessed man.

Emily is 24 and Anna is 20. These two young women are doing wonderfully in life, far more than I think they give themselves credit for.

I love them, their mother and jazz. It doesn’t get much better than that.

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