courage

A funny thing happened on the way to my NYC marathon this year: I decided to have the courage to do something a little different. I decided to listen to something other than the part of me that does things because, well...because that's always been the way I've done things. I decided to not run this year. There are a couple of important reasons (the main one being that my knee injury threw my training off and hasn't yet altogether recovered its happy place during long runs), but despite that, I'm finding this decision challenges my notion of safety in sameness. You see, for the last three+ years my summers and falls have been regimented pretty solidly around a training schedule that builds throughout the summer to double-digit miles, has me out most mornings before the heat (in the summer) or the sun (in the fall) are up, and reminds me that squirrels can be unpredictable little creatures when you startle them in the act of nut storage during early morning activity...all this sort of torturous, yet also satisfyingly challenging stuff was some kind of baseline of achievement for my life for the past few years. And somewhere along the way I'd made it up that my life would fall apart if I didn't follow the template.

And then along came the idea to be brave and try something new. To stop being selectively deaf, and listen really closely to what my body and heart might be saying. This is a trend that has been rolling out in a few areas of my life in the past few months. And while I've been laboring over this defer-marathon decision for the last couple of weeks, I saw an example of such straight-up, yet oh-so-subtle courage in the actions of a lady at the studio, that it all kind of became crystal clear. This was not an act of gravity defying pole movement (though I saw plenty of that, too, from other lovelies). No, this was a moment that no doubt passed fairly unnoticed to the naked eye. A woman came in for an intro class. She walked into the studio wearing one of those mask-smiles that so conveniently announces to the world: I'm absolutely bat-sh*t terrified here, but look, I'm smiling...right? She was in her 50s and all on her own, while around her were pairs of fairly young ones chatting away seemingly at ease. As I showed her where the dressing room was, she commented on the cute booty shorts and tank tops that the studio sells and that she was pretty sure she'd never be in any shape to wear them. Of course I disagreed with her...of course that didn't change her mind...of course she thought i was just being nice (didn't get that I was absolutely serious). So she went into the class with one kind of smile on and came out two hours later with a smile of a completely different kind. I'm gonna say it was giddy. It was luminous. It was absolutely bat-sh*t sexy! She came up to reception and the words were uncorked: how she hadn't told her boyfriend she was coming tonight, how she wanted to feel sexy walking down the street with him (and since she lives up in my neighborhood of bodacious Dominican Republic ladies, I know exactly what she's talking about! Those ladies know how to walk! If I wouldn't get the crap beaten out of me, I'd follow them down the street and practice.) She signed up for a level one class on the spot and we all marveled at the fact that she was going to keep this a secret from her guy. See, she had a plan. One that involved some high heels, a short skirt, and a demonstration on the best way to pick up the remote off the coffee table when he was watching the game...and then subsequently stopped watching the game and started watching her (then maybe a walk down the street for some dinner and dancing afterward). Brilliant. But the thing that really inspired me was the look of amazement on her face, the sense that she was doing something completely different than she'd ever done before, and she said a couple of times This isn't like me at all. and shook her head, clucked a little, had that whole pride and surprise of self moment going. And I thought, Damn, look what happens when you're brave enough to go against your own grain.

Well, naturally this followed on the heels of a class where C observed during my dance that my heretofore suppressed sexuality that's only nipped around the edges of my dance is unfolding in a mighty special (and not scary) way. A powerful and sensual way. And I knew why...as if she's a fortune teller who reads what's going on in my life through my body's moves without me having to tell her, she sees immediately that i'm developing the courage to let myself be seen because I've let myself be loved and to love back. Because I waited (this time) until it felt right (and was fortunate enough that he waited, too), I could say yes courageously, taking a road less traveled by me.

So a funny thing happened on the way to my life this fall: During the past few months when you'd usually find me startling squirrels, I've been startling myself. In the land of sameness, the cowardly lion roared...and then grew a pair...or more...of possibilities.

one of these things is not like the other

so funny how things never ever ever look like I either think they will or like they looked before.

Last week was an interesting series of events in the land of Really? First of all, I got a chance to see a friend of mine fly high in a pole competition where she made it to the final four competitors (out of over a dozen). Sitting and watching an amazing group of women—and a couple of men—spin, climb and twirl (along with moves that i can't even pretend to describe the strength and beauty of), while telling a story within that movement, I was reminded how this form of dance has historically been marginalized to the land of strip-clubs and the male gaze (click here for a great view on that by Claire Griffin Sterrett in her Pole Story blog). But really, the movement is so filled with grace and joy (even when expressing heartache), that I wonder at how long the pole dancing cliché will persist. Though I get that very little clothing and very tall shoes on very lovely (tho not always traditionally so) women may be seen as the main course with the movement considered a side dish, the order of things seems to be changing. (And seeing the two solo men perform—one of whom was wearing a killer pair of shoes—brought a corrective moment to my viewpoint that guys can bring the sexy to the pole, albeit in a kind of gymnastically sideways way.)

And in keeping with the breaking down of that pole dancing misconception, a play project that I'm helping a friend put together (Pole Play: Taking Flight) was put up on Kickstarter, an entrepreneurial Web site that supports independent projects. With a goal of $5,000, the project has made almost $1,600 in one week (with a little over a month to go), which, while incredibly exciting, also reminded me how much fear I have around new projects. In theory, in conversation, in the abstract, it's all very exciting. In reality, I freeze. so this will be a good experiment in being a part of something that involves others, a situation that requires me to speak up and use my gut to communicate. We'll see how that goes. (and now that I've outed myself right here, I'll be sure and keep accountable.)

As the week continued to roll, the theme seemed to be following a pretty solid It Takes More Than One To Get This Party Started trajectory. And here's where that message really hit home for me. After spending an evening with my merry band of dance luvuhs watching Pina Bausch's dance troupe perform one of the most physically demanding shows I've ever seen. Where what was elegant (ladies in beautiful evening gowns) was altered (ladies drenched to the bone while moving through the river that ran through the stage, while still wearing beautiful evening gowns). Where what I thought was strictly dance turned out to be just as much a spoken-word play on life, and where I assumed that after seeing the run time of two-and-a-half-hours that I'd be bouncing in my seat for it to end—and I wasn't, I found myself exiting the theater and entering a kind of face-to-face showdown with a few of my demons and fears.

This unfolding of events wasn't directly related to the show, but instead had its roots in my realization that when I get in a groove (read: going to shows with merry dance luvuhs, continuing to run the NYC marathon no matter whether the training is making me go hmmm, taking S classes), and when I sense that groove is changing, I become terrified and my go-to place is often the land of run-away. Well because the last few months have been filled with amazing moments of newness, in having someone in my life where I find myself smiling and happily surprised consistently, and even though on a pretty accessible level I know nothing stays exactly the same, in fact can't stay the same and can actually get better along with the act&gravity of forward movement, I slipped into an anti-accessible place and freaked the f&*k out about the man in my life. Started to slip into the valley of self-doubt because of a fairly straightforward communication situation. Ahhh. Life. Sharing. Speaking. Showing. All such great words, all of them scaring the beJeezus out of me at that particular moment. And it made me realize how much I still bring in all my past experiences, as if they're happening all over again step-by-step. It was really weird to watch myself go there and know I could actually decide not to dive in, but the funny thing was I wanted to belly-flop into it. I chose to. And after realizing and being reassured that he didn't in fact run off with a Swedish supermodel or disappear having come to the conclusion that he was done here with me, I was able to actually say these things out loud and stay put in whatever words came my way, I felt crazy better (yeah, a little of both separately and a whole lot when put together).

What I thought was happening wasn't. How I think I roll, I don't. When I'm about to make some big-ass decision about the direction of my life...pause. speak. listen. lucky.


(merry band at Bausch-land)