in frolicking through this holiday, one in which I and me-honey mixed up a great smorgasbord of fun, food, play(s), libation, and relaxation, there was an appreciation in me of what it is to indulge in what the body wants, to give the mind (the overthinking part) a break. Twould seem easy, but i was presented with a question last week in class: how to let my body remember without my mind getting in the way? How to let the memory of what it is to move with honesty (a place I've visited before) prevail without my mental state mapping out the landscape. And being reminded that just because I've done it before (the free-your-mind-and-the-rest-will-follow part) doesn't mean it's the go-to place.
The 20+ inches of snow that fell on the NYcity helped remind me that there's no controlling the landscape or movement of anything: one day a street looks like a street, the next it's rolling mounds of white-covered hunks of steel with little side-view mirrors peaking out. Yesterday I knew where the blue mailbox on the corner was, today not so much. It's taking a chance that a train may come...or not. it's struggling in my clunky boots and hat that falls over my eyes through the icy river of an intersection gritting my teeth, then laughing when I fall on my ass in a snow drift (tho not so much when little salt pellets spray me from the salt truck. those puppies sting). it's all random. It all moves me in a way unexpected, because nobody gave me instruction on what to do as i slushed and negotiated the curb outside the front door.
Therein lies the rub: to approach it instinctually, to get up and over and sometimes land on my butt—then most likely get up again—without a solid plan. to be able to live inside the experience without building big thoughts on top that tip it over into choreography. i'm a lot less freaked out about looking silly than i've ever been before, so why not live it? no sense. no memory.
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