Artifacts as motivation

Though I’ve been really low on motivation the last two weeks due to a stupid slip back into eating gluten (and I’m starting to emerge from it but oy…), I’ve been thinking about sharing this particular idea for some time.

A lot of people write about the idea of legacy. What is the legacy you wish to leave behind you in the world? For some of our brains, that’s a pretty abstract concept that doesn’t lead to much past understanding. Meaning, for me, it doesn’t lead to action. Not so much.

But then I ran into the idea of artifacts as it relates to us personally and I can’t remember where but it stuck.

This isn’t about all the stuff in your house. I mean, I really wish more people would take Swedish Death Cleaning more seriously, because yeah, we don’t want your tchotchke and you’re basically asking others to clean up after you. (This doesn’t mean you should live with nothing but maybe, just maybe, if your house and garage and shed are packed to the gills, you could get rid of half of it. I know from experience that it won’t only NOT kill you to have an empty closet or even just some empty shelves, but it will make space in your life to breathe more deeply. For reals.)

Anyway…

What are these artifacts?

You know how on social media there are people who only ever share other people’s stuff (including fucking AI generated crap but that’s another post)? They never share any of their own thoughts, their own photos, their own art, nothing generated from their own minds and hearts.

It reminds me of a lot of those homes I just wrote about above. They are leaving behind bought stuff… nothing from their own hands or minds.

And that’s the artifacts we’re talking about: bits of you. Evidence of you having lived your life.

Not everyone is going to leave behind beautiful paintings like my husband or piles of published books like some of my friends.

But we can still leave behind bits of us… that journal you kept of the seasons? Priceless. Those pieces of art that you labored over out of pure joy? Priceless.

These are the things that matter. Not your freaking figurines.

How this can be motivating

For me, when I think about leaving behind artifacts of my life, it motivates me to make those videos (and build my YouTube so it’s full of my somatic dance principles). It motivates me to actually get writing, whether here or on socials or on the book files I have started. It motivates me to work on my teacher training manual.

It motivates me to plan the next choreography challenge. To build deeper community. To get out in the world and show my damn self.

So… thinking of the artifacts you’d like to leave behind, how could this motivate you?

The idea of joybody arose from a lifetime of painbody

It’s been rainy here after many weeks of drought, and suddenly, my body is one big bag of aches. Dry weather is best (cold or warm/hot) and cold wet is the worst.

I’ve been thinking about this blog for some time, but the idea of trying to write out all the ways my body is a literal pain was just overwhelming.

I won’t be including the ways my brain causes me pain. Most of you know at least a bit about my history of depression and anxiety and there’s some of that in my about me. (And I also won’t be including anything here about a couple of chronic issues, including lifelong migraine.)

And I wanted to write about my chronic pain issues so that it makes more sense when I write about the idea of joybody.

My Original PainBody

When you live with pain from a young age, you don’t notice that you live with pain. It’s just always there. It’s the water you swim in.

Even just a couple of years ago, I saw a meme about a doctor asking a patient where their pain level was and the patient said it was about a four… you know… normal. And the doc said, well, no pain is what’s normal.

WHAT?!

I remember from a very early age waking up and pressing all of my fingers into the wall to “wake them.” They were stiff from the get go. As was a lot of my body.

There were times when getting out of a chair, it would take me a few steps to feel like my legs were “ready.” (This still happens.)

And don’t even get me started on my low back. Or my shoulders which started getting bursitis in my early teens. (I now know what it was. Then I wouldn’t have had that word and I wouldn’t have even complained. It just was what it was.)

The Weirds of My Body

I’m pretty sure I could get a fibromyalgia diagnosis. My pain points are that widespread.

But here are a collection of things that are actually wrong with my body. (And if you’ve been in class with me, you know I say, “I’ve never seen your actual skeleton so I don’t know your body enough to tell you what you can or should/not do.”

Well, I’ve seen plenty of my skeleton:

• I have congenital hip dysplasia on my left side. As a dancer, I used this for extreme flexibility tricks. Someone should have told me to stop. (This hip dysplasia will come up later in a significant way.)

• My right tibia is twisted inward.

• Which makes my right knee only point forward if my right foot is out a bit.

• The last vertebra on my right side overgrew and connect to the top of my pelvis.

• And all of my joints are hypermobile. Again, this was something that dance took advantage of and praised… oy…

Stepping on Nails

I lived with all of this pretty quietly. And it got worse over time as I got depressed and moved less and less. It got so bad that…

I was coming down the stairs in my house and I took a step and was 100% convinced I had stepped on a nail. I was convinced that when I looked down, I would see TONS OF BLOOD. But of course, that wasn’t what had happened. From this moment for the next couple of years, it would just randomly happen and I would spend too much time on the couch. I started to actually look into canes. In my mid 30s.

It would also get so bad that I would do the stairs on my butt… yep.

I’ve told this story a million times but in my late 30s, I met a PT at a party. I was talking a lot about my love of martial arts films, and she said, “Do you want to do martial arts?” And I said, “OH! I can’t… not with my hip!” And she said, “Yeah… I’ve been watching how you walk… I could fix that…”

I went to Cleveland to see her for three hours and it cost more money than I had and was worth ten times as much.

She taught me how to access my core while walking. I walked over and over again, slowly, around the small park in my neighborhood to retrain my body. It worked.

Until… it all started up again…

The Magical Doc

By this time, I was dancing many hours a day every day and teaching what would become Peony Somatic Dance. So when it started to happen again, I was devastated. I asked around and found a musculoskeletal doc.

And finally! He figured out my hip dysplasia was some of the worst he’d ever seen and that it was shortening my psoas muscles. He said he usually only saw it that bad in ultra runner types and that dancers usually had the opposite problem but thanks to my skeleton… again, ugh.

He believed that once I was armed with the diagnosis that I could figure out what to do. And I did. And I did the tings I needed to do every single day, multiple times a day, and if it even feels a teensy bit like that to this day, I go right back to those basics.

And finally tennis

I still have pain. I have days and weeks and months where I’m never pain free but I’m not in the kind of pain I used to be because of how much I move.

The more I move, the more I can move and the better my body and mind feel. There’s no stopping. (Except when there is and then the whole depression cycle starts up again.)

One thing, though, that I’d been avoiding for all these years was tennis.

I was afraid of getting hurt, because if I’m hurt and can’t dance, well, I’m screwed.

But after two frozen shoulders, I said, FUCK IT! I LOVE TENNIS! (And have since I was quite small.)

And that has been everything. It was the final key I needed for this body puzzle. I am as in love with tennis as I have ever been with dance, and it pushes me in ways that dance does not.

When I’m playing tennis, it is really clear to me that this body would have been so much happier in this world if I had not used my intellect as an escape pod from my life. My life would have been completely different if I had taken my physicality this seriously from the get go but alas… I am taking it seriously now and that matters.

My Point

I know pain. I know chronic pain. And I cannot overemphasize how much MORE important it is for those of us who suffer to find ways to move that are joyful.

We’ve been living, most likely, in a sort of fearful relationship with our body, which then affects our mind and the rest of our lives.

Gently and with patience we can come out of that fear relationship through play. Once we navigate through these early stages, we can start doing more challenging things.

But we must consciously take on this task. These choices we make right now will affect how we age.

I want to be one of those 90 somethings that is still playing tennis multiple times a week and of course creating dance. How about you?

Faster, Bigger, Better

When I was in graduate school completing my MA in English (and half of another in History before depression settled in and ruined all the things), I worked at the university I was attending and one of my professors would walk past my desk and say, “FASTER! BIGGER! BETTER!” He thought he was funny.

I was thinking about this today as I was thinking about this blog.

And I was thinking about writing this blog when I realized something pretty big on the tennis court the other day.

Or I should say that I observed it on the tennis court and really felt it. It’s something I’ve realized before but you know… it was in my brain and not in my body.

The tennis court as school

I’ve said this before and of course I believe it most deeply about dance but the movement thing that you love enough to really commit to? It’s the thing that will teach you everything you need to know about life. For today’s example…

There are often these moments when Craig and I are playing and he is getting a stray ball and making his way back to the baseline to start up play again and I end up yelling, “Hey! Let’s pick up the pace!”

When I pick up dead balls, I do it with a bounce in my step. I HURRY. Because someone is waiting.

And it hit me suddenly a few days ago: rushing is one of my most deeply embedded trauma responses. I am always making sure to do what’s been asked of me as fast as possible so there is no anger.

But there are layers

Of course, there are.

I rush so I don’t anger anyone, but I also rush so I don’t inconvenience anyone. I rush so I am not a bother. I rush so my presence is not clocked as anything but helpful.

Trauma born for sure.

But also? Patriarchy born.

Craig doesn’t rush. Like EVER. For anything.

Because he’s been taught that his time is his. That whatever he’s doing is to be done for himself at his own pace. (We talked about this and though some of these things can be hard, he does get it when it’s pointed out.)

As a white, cishet male, the world is meant to rush for him. He’s meant to take his time. However he likes it.

The middle ground

I would like to rush less, and I would like him to rush more. I don’t want him to feel the fucking anxiety that I live with thinking I have to do every damn thing as fast as possible — from my work to the dishes in the sink to whatever.

I would like to rush less. And I would like men who are slow-privileged to pick up their pace sometimes. To maybe actually think about the person waiting for/on them.

And yeah, maybe, I would like men to feel some of that anxiety that I think a lot of us feel who don’t have that privilege. Just to grow their empathy, ya know?

Another important lesson from the court

I’ve written about a huge insight I had about the importance of positive self talk while I was on the tennis court, but believe it or not, I think this thing I realized just the other day while playing is even more significant.

Craig and I were playing for only about ten minutes and I felt completely and utterly frustrated and defeated. To the point of almost crying. I told him I did not understand how I could play so well for days and days of practice and then suddenly look like I had barely ever picked up a racket (probably an exaggeration but not by as much as I would like).

He knew not to say a lot — or really anything. Platitudes can make me just melt down, and anything resembling even decent advice when I’m in that mindset, well, it just makes things worse. He knows I have to work it out myself.

I tried the positive self talk but it wasn’t helping as much this time. A little but it wasn’t turning my game around.

Then I remembered seeing something about watching only the ball.

You might think, Christine! Weren’t you watching the ball!?!?!?

And duh. Yes, of course I was, but “watch only the ball” is actually different.

I keep my eye on the ball. I’ve been taught that since I was little. Basic. But I realized I am also at the same time, watching the other player, watching my own self in my mind, watching the court. That’s a lot of watching. That’s too many focal points.

So I WATCHED ONLY THE BALL.

Suddenly it was like there was nothing else there to see. Everything else just kinda blurred.

From the moment the ball hit Craig’s racket, that was it.

Only. The. Ball.

INSTANTLY my game changed. It felt almost mystical. Zen like.

And it is, right?

This is the practice. Because after a couple of super focused ONLY the ball rallies, I could tell my focus would try — out of habit — to include all those other things. I would have to force myself to go back to ONLY the ball.

Each time I lost that, I started making mistakes. Each time I got back to that level of extreme focus, I was hitting wonderfully.

And of course, tennis — like dance — like anything that we dive deeply into and explore ourselves through — is a metaphor for the rest of our lives.

Watch ONLY the ball.

Where do you need that in your life?

"Giving up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul"

That quote has stuck with me from this video. Though almost every single sentence he drops is like a sparkling gem. This video is worth your time… more than once, I’m betting.

Little bits of somatic magic to help with rage, anxiety, and fear

I’ve not been writing as much. I got a stupid virus, but that was really just a small part of it all. The world right now makes me so sad and angry that I lose words. And I know I’m not alone.

(A quick aside: if you are having issues with dissociation and/or you are really in need of community right now, we’re starting a new four week session next week (the week of June 23rd). If you’ve not been in a class in a while, maybe now is the time to do one? Registration for both Peony Somatic Dance and Quickie)

Back to the current situation… I wrote this in the Circle of Trees but thought it was worth sharing elsewhere:

I was an RA at Penn State when Bush Sr. started a significant chunk of what we're still basically mired in in the middle east (which goes back further, of course, but I just mean the current clusterfuck).

We had to call all the students together so a counselor could speak to them. Some of them had siblings, parents, boy/girlfriends who were being sent over. It was intense. There was a lot of crying.

I remember the feelings of that time. The constant pit in my stomach. The constant anger. The frustration that we could be dragged through things with no agency of our own.

And then the utter surreality of walking around that big beautiful (safe) campus and going to classes and talking about literature from another time.

And so here we are.

Again.

Waiting. With no real agency. We can protest and call our senators but there's a madman in the White House and what he does in the next 24 to 48 hours... for right now, he has power over all of us...

I just watched a video of him saying he wouldn't call Walz because why would I (he said), Walz, you know, appointed that guy to a ... why would I call, what would I say? (And some disparaging things about Walz himself, of course, but NOTHING BAD ABOUT THE GUNMAN.)

HE IS NOT HUMAN. And he only sees some of us as human. (As in only the sycophants around him.)

Today I'm freaking out. I have work to do and I feel like I'm walking and typing through molasses. And I keep thinking about people who voted for this and thinking all of this is what?!?! GOOD????

If you're freaking out today or if you're anxiously checking in with things... I am too.

Hold a cat. Drink some coffee/tea. Eat a piece of chocolate. Check on your flowers. Listen to something beautiful.

Or do one or more of the somatic methods in that image I shared.

And don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.

A formula for your experiment of one

A little preface to my main point

It seems right to share a photo from the time I wrote the words below

Since 2016 (and we all know what I’m referring to) it has felt like time makes no sense, the world gets darker and darker, and overall, our mental health has just been on a trajectory that, well, we’d prefer were different. Maybe I’m not speaking for you, but most people in my circles feel like they are somehow less than a version of themselves that existed pre-2016.

I am less in my fit dancer body, that’s for sure. I’m less joyful and less giggley. And my god, I really do believe this timeline has aged us faster than we would have otherwise.

And on top of all of that, I actually feel less smart. Maybe it’s all the stupidity and ignorance and cruelty that has permeated our culture and it’s bound to somehow affect each and every one of us whether we are those things or not.

But when I look back at my pre-2016 memories, I sure do seem smarter. I seem more joyful even when I was going through something difficult… I could see that there was some sort of meaning to be extracted, some sort of growth I could get from it.

So when I share this, it might even make part of you mad, but I would suggest that’s the part of you (and me) that has been so deeply traumatized over the last … oh my god ALMOST DECADE living with these monsters among us.

I wrote this formula from so many years of my own experimentation, and the beauty of it is that it’s a framework but you fill in the deets.

A formula for your experiment of one

There is no one path to health after chronic developmental trauma, from which so many unconsciously suffer. But there ARE some very basic building blocks that we KNOW help and that constitute a pretty damn good formula as far as formulas go.

First, movement. Period. You have to move every day. This is essential for basic human vitality but for someone attempting to recover their brain it becomes fundamental. We have excellent science behind what movement does for the brain, and there is, literally, nothing like it. It's imperative that you find movement that you ENJOY. Anything less will not last and will not have the results. And? Healthy movement leads to HEALTHY rest, which most people do not get. They get too much rest and it's of the not-restful variety so then they think they need more. Nope. MOVE.

Second, nutrition. Because movement every day must be supported by your nutrition. But your brain also responds to what you put in your body (duh, right? but not so much in the mainstream medical community). Play with your diet. Go in with no assumptions. See what makes you feel ALIVE and full of energy. Don't let anyone tell you to eat in any way that does not support those outcomes. Don't let anyone guilt you into any other way of eating that does not match your needs.

Third, aside from nutrition, WATER. Most people I know are dehydrated and there are some physicians who are starting to (oh, the radical!) notice that dementia is not about aging but about dehydration plus...guess what? Decreased movement.

Fourth, and this is something a lot of people don't think about: Spirituality, which is another word for Deep Connection. Find a connection to something bigger than you, bigger than the trauma, because trauma creates disconnect and makes us feel like we are special in a bad way. We're not.

Yep. That's a formula. If you did all those things EVERY DAY with intention, I guarantee (yes, I said that) that your brain and then your life would change.

Back to the present

All these years later, this really does hold. And please pay attention to my wording. I was super careful back then about how I said these things and it matters to this day.

How small things can bring big results

An extra beautiful bouquet that Cat Daddy brought home a couple of weeks ago.

My new morning routine is to NOT lie in bed and drown in news, but instead, I listen to a Chani meditation or teaching (I have the paid app and it's super worth it, FYI), and then I get up, put on my damn leggings, and do a Japanese slow jog on my treadmill while I watch a podcast. (A little something about that technique.)

Here's the thing: I only do this for 10 minutes. It's all I can convince myself to do at this point. (And I do the jog thing because I have learned from SO LONG of trying that my body does not want to be creative first thing... it takes me a while to really wake up. I’ve tried waking and dancing first thing and it only leads to frustration.)

Here's the other thing: IT IS DOING THINGS TO MY BRAIN.

I've always preached that it can be as simple as one song. But the part that's left out with that is the sweat.

You have to sweat. One song can be enough to alter your brain chemistry a bit but you have to dance vigorously and get a bit of a sweat on. (And the more minutes, the better over time... that's just reality.)

OR you can dance to one song and SING LOUDLY and that will affect your brain without you needing to really sweat. That's why car singing on the way to work can make such a difference for people.

Why? THE BREATH. It's pretty much all about the breath and getting those lungs pumping -- sweating and/or singing will both do that.

And doing this first thing in the morning is, of course, setting me up for a bit of a better day.

It's not enough to totally deal with the intensity of my depression but it gives me the bit of chemistry to make better decisions later in the day. If I start my day with movement, I’m more likely to move more throughout the day. And then over time, cumulatively, my brain will get better and better.

But for now, ten minutes can have a domino effect. You can surely find ten minutes. We do all kinds of mind numbing things for ten minutes… watch TV, just sit and rot, scroll on our phones.

It’s hard, though, to make different choices. And it’s a bit of pain in the ass that making better choices leads to making more better choices. ((sigh))

As I’ve said before, there’s no magicks but in