…

I struggled with the last word of that last sentence, changing. I originally wanted to type deteriorating, failing, or decaying, but those are all such negative words. For some older adults, even those whose bodies are gradually shutting down, a shift in perspective prevents them from falling into a pit of hopelessness. This mindset–resilience–”is an important concept to consider as the life span increases so [health care providers] can coach older adults in attaining life-course perspectives that help them maintain positive adaptation in the face of adversity” (p. 9).

Even the American Psychological Association, whose publication manual we use for editing, seems to follow this line of thinking: “Use emotionally neutral expressions,” the manual advises. “Objectionable expressions have excessive, negative overtones and suggest continued helplessness.”

I distinctly remember during the first week on the job my manager explaining to me how we are never to use the word suffer, as in, “suffering from bipolar disorder,” or victim, as in “stroke victim.” Think of all the people you know who have arthritis or hypothyroidism or ADD. Are they all “suffering”? When I hear that word, I think of someone huddled helplessly in a corner or shuffling dejectedly down the street.

However, plenty of people choose wisdom over despair. Although it doesn’t stop the skin from thinning or the muscles from atrophying, wisdom is just a different way of viewing the inevitable changes of life:

Despair is the unchallenged acceptance of negativity. Negative life events are viewed without a search for greater meaning. Losses are carried as heavy burdens from which one does not recover. Where wisdom calls for recovery from loss, despair is immobilized by the fear and anxiety triggered by loss. (p. 25)

I know it’s easy to write all this stuff when I’m still young. But after five years of editing articles that show both sides of the coin, I’m determined to be wise and resilient when I grow up. Here are some people I look to for inspiration:

Tao Porchon-Lynch

She’s a 90-something yoga master who also decided to add ballroom dancing to her CV…at age 87. A short and sweet interview with her is available here on the Kripalu Perspectives podcast page.

Age of Champions cast

Age of Champions – Trailer from Documentary Foundation on Vimeo.

I haven’t watched this documentary yet, but it features the stories of a 100-year-old tennis champion, 86-year-old pole vaulter, octogenarian swimmers, and team of basketball grandmothers all competing in the National Senior Games. This may be more interesting than the 2012 Summer Olympics!

Gotta Dance team

Photo credit: Gotta Dance & NBA Entertainment

I already gushed about this documentary here, but in short, the movie documents the inaugural season of the NETsationals dance team, a group of 13 seniors ages 59 to 83 who dance hip hip for the New Jersey Nets. The number on their jerseys represents their age. (I’m looking at you on the right there, Little Miss 81!)

5Rhythms Elders

My 5Rhythms instructor used to live in London and was part of the 5Rhythms Reach Out, which brings the practice to special populations such as older adults, children, and prison inmates. The video above is super sweet, and even if you don’t have time to watch the whole 7 minutes, at least just watch a few snippets. The average age of the adults in the video is 75, and their movement is a heartwarming indication of the expression and emotion that still lives inside of us, even when our body may not be able to jete across the room.

My 90-Year-Old Grandmother

No, not my grandmother, but Adam Forgie’s grandmother. She’s become an Internet sensation after her dance tribute to Whitney Houston went viral. According to Adam, grandma is nearly blind from macular degeneration, partially deaf, and has a hip replacement. But she still “wanna dance with some somebody.” And with such soul, too!

If it were up to me, I’d be a lifelong Peter Pan and never grow up, but because I’m not a cartoon character, the least I can be is as spirited as these folks above.

Do you have anyone you’d add to this list of resilient older adults?

It started with a recollection of a dream I had last night. This was one of those dreams that you don’t remember you even had until something innocuous sparks the memory. I was doing my usual morning stretches and general rolling around/yoga/dancing in the living room when the Grooveshark playlist I had on switched over to Tina Malia’s “Heal This Land.” The first time I heard this song was back in October, during a Let Your Yoga Dance (LYYD) class. The instructor, Nikki, was training to become a certified LYYD teacher and was doing the practice teaches required before returning to Kripalu.

When Nikki played that song, it reminded me instantly of Megha, LYYD’s founder and director, especially in relation to the workshop at Kripalu I attended back in 2008. The program was titled “Let Your Yoga Dance: Heal Yourself, Heal the Earth,” and many of our sessions revolved around the importance of not only keeping ourselves healthy but the earth as well.

We danced barefoot in the grass outside. Planted sunflowers. Went out as a group to the labyrinth to move meditatively through the never-ending rock-lined loops, claps of thunder sounding in the distance. So hearing a song with lyrics like “My body is the mountain, the ocean, the river / The sand and the soil, the life giver” was just so, so Megha.

When the song played for me this morning, it hit me. The dream. I had dreamed last night that I was back at Kripalu, awaiting my chance to once again dance with Megha. In the dream, I had been promised a chance to review some of my choreography with Megha, and I couldn’t wait to show her my work. (This dream is also an embarrassing indication of how much Dance Academy I’ve been watching.) But the timing was never right. Our schedules kept interfering, and I never had the opportunity demonstrate my dance for her. The most I was able to do was meet with her briefly, stroke her face, and reassure her that she was “a wise woman.” (And all of this is completely normal, of course, in dreamland.)

So with that memory in mind, my dance to “Heal This Land” this morning was passionate, soulful. I felt connected to Megha, to LYYD, to the way dancing at Kripalu makes me feel…

…which then led to me opening my e-mail and finding a new Google Alert, which I have set up to let me know when the term “Kripalu” pops up on the Internet. The link led me to this YouTube video:

created by one of the musicians from KDZ, the drumming group that performs at Kripalu. Coincidentally, Megha usually leads the dance portion of these Saturday-at-Noon jams. It’s not an official Kripalu-affiliated video or anything, but it was so exciting to remotely be immersed in the sights and sounds of the dancing and jamming that goes on over there in the Berkshires. I’m not sure what I enjoyed more about my yoga teacher training, getting a 200-hour certification or spending my free Saturdays dancing with live drumming!

So now that I’ve found this great video, man, do I miss me some good drumming…

…oh! What’s this other e-mail in my inbox?

A day-long drumming retreat right here in New Jersey? With Jim Donovan, who I had just written about in this blog post?! You don’t say!

Thanks for the synchronicities, Saturday! You’ve reminded me that somewhere underneath all the commotion and chaos of life, there is a universal hum that keeps us all singing and dancing together.

Most of the items on the list are pretty basic, things like “dancing,” “Disney World,” and “coffee in the morning.”

Some things aren’t even relevant anymore, such as “running on the treadmill” (haven’t touched one of those machines in a year!) and “the manatee mailbox on my drive home from work” (which, sadly, was recently dismantled).

A lot of items are related to food: “crunchy cereal, especially Kashi Go Lean,” “a veggie- and Swiss-filled egg-white omelet,” “my 3 p.m. yogurt and granola,” and “mixing PB and jelly into oatmeal.” (All of which are still very near and dear to me.)

And, of course, my husband’s name is mentioned quite frequently: “the way Bryan clutches Boo [our plush pug] after I get out of bed in the morning,” “splitting corn muffins with Bryan” (food bonus!), “the way Bryan tucks me into bed–straightjacket style–on cold nights,” and “Bryan’s gentle pats on my butt whenever he walks by me.”

In honor of February 14, Valentine’s Day, and all things LOVE, I thought I’d post 14 items from my “Things I Love” list. They aren’t numbered or anything, so I’m just going to close my eyes, scroll up and down, and select items at random.

Here we go!

1. The motivation to move after watching “So You Think You Can Dance.” Maybe it’s the contestants’ passion, the choreography, or the kick-ass music, but after an hour of watching that show, all I want to do is fly around our living room, stereo blasting.

2. Using StarPower in Guitar Hero. I’ve always sucked at this game, so getting StarPower in the first place was a huge accomplishment. Using it feels even more awesome.

3. Watching our tomato plants spring to life and produce little green tomato babies. It’s the miracle of life! (And then the circle of life, because the squirrels eat them.)

4. Never remembering that the Hershey’s chocolate syrup in the fridge is NOT Hershey’s chocolate syrup until we squirt it on our ice cream. Wait, not all couples pretend they’re squirting poop onto their dessert?

5. My hip popping when I really need it to. Even if I need to do so in a corridor of The Getty Center.

6. The feeling of accomplishment (and relief) after emerging from a 90-minute Bikram class. I’m still alive!

7. The way plants contort themselves to face the sunlight. No matter which way I turn the pot, the leaves will find a way to lean back toward the window.

8. The camaraderie among the morning crowd at my gym. I don’t go to the gym in the mornings anymore, but there is pleasant group of older adults who joke and tease with each other and are generally just very outgoing and fun to be around.

9. Dark thunderstorm clouds on one side of the sky and bright sun on the other.

10. Spontaneous Nerf gun battles. Because every family has a set of these hiding under their living room sofa, right?

11. Seeing people stand in front of the bulletin board, reading everyone’s answers. I used to maintain the common-area bulletin board at work and decorated it each month with Q&As and fun factoids about colleagues. It was nice to see people stop and take the time to read it!

12. Reading Bryan my adolescent Disney diary entries. Before one of our latest Disney trips, I decided to read my old Disney journals to Bryan as “bedtime stories.” It was an act of courage, because man was am I nerdy back in the day!

13. Supermarket cashiers who handle our food with care. Respect the food.

14. Veggie burgers, banana whips, and vegan cupcakes from the Bashful Banana. My favorite place on the Ocean City, NJ boardwalk!

What random things do you love? Name three right off the top of your head!

Starting this week, my sister and I (and hopefully our grandmother) will be taking a 10-week series in tai chi chuan.

It is not the first time I have dabbled in tai chi. My gym offers a class (led by a master instructor), which I’ve dropped into a few times, and then in the summer of 2010 I took a 6-week series in tai chi chih. I took the chih class during a very stressful time in my life, and that weekly gathering kept me grounded. My mind was all over the place that summer, and that one hour and 15 minutes each week was my lifeline. However, as much as the practice contributed to my well-being, in the end, I definitely felt a greater attraction toward the chuan style of tai chi.

Tai chi chuan is the style most people are familiar with, the steady flow from posture to posture that resembles an underwater dance. Tai chi chih, on the other hand, is a series of 19 movements that are done more like repetitions in a set. They are just as flowing as the movements in the chuan style, but they are not linked as seamlessly and it is not considered a martial art like chuan.

My sister, her boyfriend, and I took a free introductory class last week. My grandmother–who we’re trying to encourage to attend class–backed out at the last minute due to painful sciatica flare. We are trying to rally as many people as we can to take this class; as this article describes, there is pretty much no reason not to do tai chi. It helps improve memory and balance, can lower blood pressure, and helps reduce depression. The day of last week’s free class, as if on cue, this article popped up on my Google Reader from the New York Times wellness blog, about a study touting the benefits of tai chi for individuals with Parkinson’s disease.

Even after practicing for an hour under bright florescent lights (ugh!) and an overhead fan (on a 35-degree night–brr!), I left last week’s class feeling pretty darn good. I had been trying to get my lower back to crack all day; it had felt “stuck” since 7 a.m. Sure enough, after class I pressed my hands against my sacrum and pop! Relief. I loved the class’ gentle warm-ups, the way the movements felt like a dance to me, but one in which I had to exercise concentration and control. The instructor is also a certified hypnotherapist, and I swear after listening to his steady voice for 60 minutes, my brain had shifted into a very peaceful state of mind. It was not the workout I am used to at all, but it gave me that same focused and centered mind that I usually achieve after doing yoga.

Finding this class–convenient in terms of location, time, and cost–as well as the fact that we’ve got some family involved, makes me feel good. Really good. Even my husband said he’d be open to the class if he didn’t have to work those nights. If only I could get the whole family to try it out, and then we could turn suburban New Jersey into a mini Beijing:

Common sight as we drove through China. (June 2006)

But instead of BOOM POW BAM BASS TONE SLAP WAHOO!, all I’ve got is: meh.

I’ve been to drum circles that had me hooting and hollering, throwing my head back and forth, and shaking my shekere till the cows came home (read: My First Drum Circle). When I left this particular event, I kind of felt like I wanted to take a nap.

But who am I to judge a drumming class? I’ve been calling my doumbek a djembe for the past several years. So I did come home slightly more enlightened.

And truthfully, I am no expert. I don’t have any formal education in percussion (aside from a hula dancing stint during which I mastered the ipu and pu’ili), and I attend maybe 3 to 4 drumming events at most per year. But my Old Lady Friend Carrol and I like to think of ourselves as drumming enthusiasts, and we are usually in agreement about whether an event was asi-asi or que bueno!

That said, here are my top 7 qualities that make for a rockin’ drum circle:

1. A play buffet.

Although drums are the pulse of a drum circle, having an assortment of percussive and other complementary instruments lying around can really liven up an event. A bass sound gets the feet stomping, but shake a shakere or maraca in my face and my hips won’t sit still.

When your hands need a break from drumming, you can still chime in by playing a cowbell, wooden block, or dancing around with foot bells. At the most recent event, someone had brought along the simplest of instruments: a set of spoons for clicking and a plastic bag, which when rubbed back and forth makes a light “scratchy” sound. The key, however, is to make it known that these instruments are here for everyone to experiment with and maybe give a quick lesson in how to use them. I saw the plastic bag lying around, but until the owner used it during the last song, I had no idea it could be used as “music.”

An assortment of drums themselves also switches up the sound and provides a range of percussion. Most people bring along their own personal djembe (or doumbek), but having additional drums available gives students a chance to try a different model or size.

Carrol tries out the djun djun

For example, when Carrol and I attended a workshop with Rusted Root founder Jim Donovan, we borrowed some of his impressive djembes with intricate carvings and awesome sound. They were for sale, too!

In addition, frame drums, congas, and bongos are all super-fun. (Especially congas. Oh man, the congas!)

2. Nontraditional sounds.

Every now and then at a drum circle, someone brings along an nontraditional instrument that adds a new kind of aural energy to the atmosphere.

For example, the Australian didgeridoo. This instrument has such an intense, haunting sound, such a primal noise that feels like it encompasses the heaviest, hardest, most indigestible and raw emotions that lie in our gut. What a treat when someone brings it along!

I’ve also been to circles that involved a flute, a guitar (which led a stirring acoustic version of “Let It Be”), and the simplest of unique instruments: the human voice. Jim Donovan’s workshop involved a drumming/chanting combo, where we did things like chant the vowels of the alphabet (A-E-I-O-U) and exploring where we felt each sound’s vibration the most (i.e., chest, head, throat). We split the universal sound (“Om, “Aum”) into four parts and chanted that over and over (A-O-U-M). We also worked with the kundalini mantra Ra-Ma-Da-Sa/Sa-Say-So-Hum. For most of the chants, we’d start with just our voices, gradually add some light drumming, and then allow the drumming to get louder as we also chanted louder.

A word of caution:  If you bring an instrument that is likely to drown out everything else in the room (e.g., snare drum), just be courteous and play it at 50% rather than its full roof-blowing volume.

3. Strong leadership.

Sometimes even a large crowd of eager drummers will fall flat as a pancake with no one at the helm. Having at least one person in the leader role is essential to get things going (and then calm them down when things get out of control), otherwise (a) cacophony ensues, or (b) the rhythm just keeps falling like a plane unable to lift off the runway.

One of the regular circles I used to attend was wicked cool month after month…until the day the two conga-playing men who had assumed the leadership role weren’t there. We were essentially the same group of people with the same instruments in hand, but we just could not get our act together.

Offering a little lesson in technique is a great way to corral a group. At one circle, the facilitator reviewed with us the bass, tone, and slap; we then experimented with various rhythms, learning to play one thing while the rest of the group played another. We worked a lot with repetition–bass, bass, tone, tone, bass, bass, slapslap–trying to get our brains and hands in sync.

As I detailed in this review of a past drumming workshop, one of the leaders was a grandmotherly figure who preached about the importance of self-healing, connection to spirit, and being in tune with the universe. She was a vibrant being from head to toe: poised, passionate, and provocative.

4. Integration of mind, body, and soul.

Like yoga or dance or singing, drumming can be a deeply personal and meditative experience. For me, a good drum circle is one where my mind gets out of my hands and the division between the music and my soul reduces to nothing. When I am compelled to get up from my chair and dance, getting lost in the music, stamping, rocking, swaying, spinning, I have found seamless integration between mind, body, and spirit.

Movement is such an important part of drumming; I get nervous if I see someone playing a drum while sitting perfectly still. The drum sound is our heartbeat; how can it not stir you?! At one summer evening event, our class took some time to walk outside, soaking up the good vibes of the earth, feeling the grass beneath our feet, the full moon glowing on our faces, and eventually coming back indoors for a Mother Earth-related tribal beat.

Even something as simple as breathing can create a deep mind-body connection. At Jim Donovan’s workshop, we started every activity by taking a deep breath and centering ourselves. Even more important, after playing for several minutes, Jim would signal us to stop and then have us sit in silence for a few moments to soak up the lingering vibrations we created. Jim’s workshops also tend to lean a bit on the philosophical side, much like a yoga intensive. Who knew that how one approached drumming could relate to life off the mat outside the drum circle?

Finally, if drumming makes you feel good, express it! During a “Healing, Feeling” drumming event I attended, the leaders infused the class with lots of self-respect, self-care talk. The one woman, Marcy, reminds me of a gospel singer and will just bust out singing things like, “Feeeeel the love!” after a vigorous round of drumming. It’s hard not to throw your hands in the air and follow along with her.

5. Time to train the brain.

I don’t want every drumming event I attend to be a rigid formal lesson in technique, but a good drum circle is one that provides an opportunity for a mental workout. The brain is “plastic” and has the ability to re-wire itself as it absorbs new knowledge, and what better way to get the neurons firing than by learning an unfamiliar pattern and then playing it as part of a three-part round? Bonus points if you don’t hold your breath and/or grimace as you go along.

Other mentally challenging exercises I’ve done were trying to sing and drum at the same time and being part of a call-and-response during which we were instructed to keep our eyes closed and use our ears—not our eyes—to pick up the rhythm.

6. Inspiring environment.

A cramped conference room with metal folding chairs is not an ideal location for drumming. Although I’m sure it’s very possible to conduct an energetic drumming event in such a spot, people will feel more comfortable busting out in a open and airy environment.

The yoga studio I used to attend was situated on the main road in town, and during the summer we’d draw back the curtains, open the front door, and play as the sun was setting, the overhead fan creating a peaceful breeze. Our music attracted curious stares and smiles from dozens of passersby strolling along the avenue. Drivers stopped at the red light on the corner rolled down their windows and craned their necks to see what kind of craziness was brewing inside.

Even locations off the beaten path can be turned into welcoming ones by making sure the lighting isn’t too harsh or too dim, that chairs and blankets are cozy but not on top of each other, and that people have enough space to get up and move around a bit.

7. A rumble!

Every drum circle should end with a rumble; basically, a time for everyone to frenetically pound on their drums and scream. It is loud and obnoxious and infectious and absolutely exhilarating!

Have you ever been to a drum circle? What was your favorite part?

One of the other students in the class was Suzie, who just so happened to be in the same LYYD training program at Kripalu. Suzie was a super-fun classmate, but I couldn’t wait to be one of her students. Like Nikki, she had a demeanor that just exuded Teacher. And, seriously, how cool is it to have not one but two LYYD teachers in my neighborhood?!

Friday night, in honor of the Go Red for Women campaign, Suzie held a heartwarming LYYD class where all proceeds went to the American Heart Association. It was a perfect tie-in: Raising money for charity by coming together and dancing our hearts out, getting our own cardiovascular workout through something as simple as dancing freely and openly.

I came into the class a bit tired and very cold. I felt like I was carrying weight of the work week on my shoulders, and I was afraid I would (a) just not have any energy; and (b) be a popsicle the entire time. When I am cold, I live with the fear that I will never warm up. Luckily, a few minutes of shaking around to Michael Franti’s “Say Hey (I Love You)” took care of that.

The thing about being a teacher is that you have to be ON, because you are the lighthouse for the rest of the class. If you begin to fade, the class energy fades with you. Suzie had some factors working against her: only a handful of students (one of whom [me] was sleepy and shivering) and the fact that we were dancing in the phys ed room of a small parochial school, surrounded by unflattering overhead florescent lighting, worn gray carpeting over a concrete floor, and hideous bright blue/yellow walls. She’d have to work extra hard to get us motivated!

Luckily, Suzie never let the conditions get to her and remained naturally ebullient throughout the entire class. It was hard to be grumpy when dancing with someone like this:

Those hats were used during our Broadway routine to “One” form A Chorus Line, when we strutted, shimmied, and kicked our way across the room. I have to say that was one of my favorite routines; props + musical theater = Happy Jen. It reminded me that as much as I love free-form dance, my past experiences on stage are still very much a part of me. (Maybe next time Suzie can play one of the songs from 42nd Street, with the tap-shoe sounds? Because how seriously fun would that be to pretend we’re tap dancers?!)

Our other props were scarves, which we moved fluidly and tenderly to RENT‘s “Seasons of Love” and then whipped around joyously to the Charlie Brown “Linus and Lucy” song. The colorful scarves were a great addition, and they helped add some vibrancy to the otherwise drab room. During the first song we were all inhaling and exhaling our scarves together like an opening and closing flower, and then when the Charlie Brown music came on, the scarves bobbed up and down with us as we shook around like cartoonish Peanuts characters.

And what’s a LYYD class without partner work? One of my favorite partner routines–not just of the class but, like, EVER–was standing in front of another person, eyes closed, and having their touch guide me into spontaneous movement. So the woman behind me tapped my right shoulder, and I moved from that touch. Then she touched my left knee, my right hip, the back of my head. Suzie instructed the “mover” to pretend as though we were in water, and that each touch from our partner created a kind of ripple effect. What made me love this practice so much was (a) the spontaneous factor, not knowing where I was going to be touched next; and (b) the “controlling” effect of being the toucher. It was like being a puppeteer in a way, me tapping my partner’s shoulder and watching her respond to that touch. I could control the speed I offered my touches and decide where my touch would go. And yet the movement she presented from that touch could never be predicted: Sometimes she rolled down over her knees, other times she reached up to the ceiling. What a seriously great practice in the dance between spontaneity and control, and also how one’s action can be so influential. The world continues to move via ripple effects.

I left class warm, both physically and emotionally. I wasn’t ready to be all Ya-Ya Sisterhood with my other three classmates, but I did feel more connected to them than when I first entered the room an hour earlier. I guess stuff like that happens when you roar like lions in each others’ faces and then later dance palm-to-palm, a la the Romeo and Juliet masquerade ball.

As much as I tried not to let the external environment get to me, I do wish the setting could have been a little more welcoming, maybe less harsh lighting and just a tad more visual warmth. I know the essence of yoga lives within us, but trying to cultivate it while standing under institutional lighting on a shabby gray carpet was a bit challenging. I joked that for her next class, Suzie should ask everyone to bring a small lamp or camping lanterns so we can shut off the overhead lights.

If not, though, I’ll just try to dive more into my practice and keep calm.

Yes, I belong to a gym and I also have lots of free weights and fitness gadgets at home, but for a while now I have felt the need for some structure when it comes to strength training. I love doing kettlebell exercises at the gym, but my body really can’t tolerate more than 1 day a week of that. I have a buttload of strength routines from magazines and websites printed out, but sometimes the act of just reading the instructions and comprehending where each body part is supposed to be is tiring in and of itself, and after I’ve “studied” the exercises for 20 minutes I have no desire to actually do them.

All I want is a little live guidance every now and then, to push me for 45 minutes and make sure all my parts are in the right place. Nothing too crazy (not quite ready for Bodypump yet) but nothing too wimpy either. Circuit training is perfect for my body, a chance for me to get cardio without overdoing it with jarring repetitive motions, and strength training, a time to build muscle. And dude, you can’t beat the price either! $3 per class? Community education rocks…property taxes at work!

The class was packed with people of all different ages, sizes, and fitness attire. It was so vibrant that I was never really self-conscious about my hip, that between sets I had to jiggle it a little. No one noticed that I didn’t lunge as deep on my left side.

What I was self-conscious about, though, was my knack for always looking like a dancer, even when I’m trying to be buff. I have this image of myself in my mind, that, due to swimming, I’m this ridiculously toned athlete. I mean, after 30 minutes of swimming, my arms feel spent, and while it’s true that my back and shoulders have changed form from swimming, my gangly upper body still screams ballerina. Not only in appearance but in movement, too. How come some people lift dumbbells over their head and look strong, and I look like I’m practicing a port de bras with 5 pounds of iron in each hand?

Ballet days

And don’t get me started on the jumping jacks. We did a variation of the typical jumping jack, jumping out wide-legged into a squat with the arms coming through the center of our body and out to the side. In other words, I felt like I was doing small jumps in a ballet class, a series of echappes to the tune of Britney Spears rather than classical piano. I felt so proper, so poised. And I couldn’t break free from the elegance!

I love that ballet is ingrained in my body but sometimes it’s like the dorky little sister who sneaks up on you in the school hallway when you’re trying to hang out with the cool crowd. “Hey ballet, whatevs. I’m here with the chiseled athletes now, doing my super-tough jumping jacks. We’ll catch up later. Nerd.”

I work in a cubicle and rarely catch a glimpse of the outside world. For the past few months I’ve gotten used to popping my head up over my cube wall at 5 o’something and seeing nothing but black on the other side of the window.

Today there was still orange in the sky, and it was mild enough that I decided to take a 3-mile stroll around the 55+ housing development across the street from my office. I have taken post-work walks there during colder/darker times, but let me tell you, you are way less threatening walking around a senior housing development in a lightweight jacket and khakis in daylight than walking around the same development at the same time in a knee-length thick winter coat, hat, mouth-and-nose-masking scarf, and, oh, it’s pitch black out.

During the former scenario, I’m a healthy gal who likes to stretch her legs after a long day at the office; in the latter scenario, I’m a creepy darkly dressed voyeur staking out people’s homes. It was nice for once to walk around the complex after work and not have every motion sensor light flood me in white and to innocently glance at people’s houses without Lou and Edna thinking I’m peeping in their windows to see what kind of valuables they own.

The semi-lit evening got me really excited because it means eventually I’ll be able to return to Red Bank Battlefield Park for post-work walks. The park is an official national park and has strict hours–open at dawn, close at dusk, locked gates and everything. Because of the early sunsets, I haven’t been to the park in forever, and I look forward to once again visiting my planes, deer, and red-tailed hawks.

As thankful as I am for today’s springlike weather, I know we still have a long way to go before I permanently trade my Land’s End sleeping bag coat for a hoodie. I mean, (as I write this) it’s technically not even February yet! I give you Exhibit A, a blog post I had written last year on February 22:

Winter made me cry this morning. Partially due to PMS but mostly just plain ol’ hating the cold, I broke out in tears at approximately 8 a.m. as I was attempting to clean the snow off my car. Just 4 days ago we were basking in 70-degree sunlight, and now I was standing in my driveway, fingers going painfully numb, trying to clear 4 inches of snow off my Ford Focus. I accidentally closed my car door on my ice scraper, it snapped apart, and then I snapped along with it. Bryan finished the job as I wimpered inside, hands jammed under my armpits in an attempt to regain feeling.

Bottom line: Enjoy it while it lasts!!

Here are some random notes from the evening:

The Watchful Hands

It is typical for the instructor to begin a Flowing exercise by telling us to dance with our hands. Before we introduce the arms, shoulders, spine, hips, and legs into the dance, we move only our hands, become fully immersed in the subtleties of the wrists and fingers. However, this time the instructor told us to imagine eyes on the palms of our hands. When we move our hands, what are they seeing?

What I saw was a sliver of everyone else’s dancing, and when we were fully given permission to dance with our entire body, I found myself tuning into my classmates’ movements, noticing a particular move they were doing, and completing a variation of that movement. Call it “copying,” but I saw it more of a form of connection with every.body there in that studio.

‘To Me’ vs. ‘For Me‘

To kick off Chaos, the instructor, as he has done in the past, had us join hands and form a circle, our arms shaking wildly as one form, our bodies being pulled one way and then another. Was it irritating that we were being pulled in several different directions at once or was it guidance for us to give into the moment? Is this chaos happening to you or for you?, we pondered after class. What if we shifted our perspective so that the chaos we face in daily living is happening “for me,” rather than the victimized “to me”? Is it possible to see the world that way?

This snowstorm is happening 'for me'??

Amanda the Kite

At one point, when the majority of the class was either vibrating in place or making small steps around themselves, Amanda flew across the studio floor as though she had wings on her ankles, a Porsche speeding down a suburban street when everyone else was going cautiously at 25 mph. Her body was a kite whipping wildly on a windy day; her movement spoke joy, and it was at that point I remembered the instructor’s comment about seeing someone else’s movement and really, really liking it, so much that you want to try it out. So for that moment, Amanda inspired me to be a kite.

Shirtless

Chaos forced me to strip off my sweatshirt, and all I had on underneath was a black sports bra. Normally I really don’t like to remain “shirtless”; when not caught up in the ecstasy of dancing, having my midriff exposed makes me feel all kinds of vulnerable. Not that I have a beer gut hanging out from my yoga pants or anything, but the stomach is just a weird body part that shifts in appearance with every forward fold, backbend, side stretch, and jump. Every time I disrobe down to the sports bra, I’m reminded of the Seinfeld episode when Jerry’s girlfriend walks around the apartment naked and how he’s repulsed at seeing her clothes-less body cough, sneeze, and shake.

I had that nervous feeling for about 3 seconds after peeling off the shirt, but then I was back in the throes of Chaos, moving around every which way, the thoughts of a prana-filled, sweat-covered belly taken over by a deep appreciation of my entire being, the way it was whirling, curling, shaking, and gyrating. My hair, which I normally go great lengths to ensure is pinned back and held neatly in place, was a hot mess. Half of it had fallen out of the rubberband, a few ends were plastered in my armpit, and whatever was left was stuck in the corners of my mouth or covering my eyes. It is in those moments of naked sweaty stomachs and fly-away Medusa hair where my freedom is found.

Michelle’s Plateau Pick-Me-Up

After the pure wildness and rawness of Chaos, the Lyrical that followed was difficult for me to maintain. I was sweaty, exhausted, and had reached a plateau. My Lyrical began to feel flat, and just as I was reluctantly shifting into the dreaded “forced” movement, Michelle shimmied up to me and did a little shake-shake-shake here, shake-shake-shake there, the twinkle in her eye and smile on her lips infusing me with a new spark of energy, like I was a Super Mario Brother coming across a 1-Up mushroom. I didn’t need a new song, a caffeine shot, or a rest break to come back to life; all it took was a little exchange of energy, and I was granted a new reserve of breath and enjoyment.

Some Sweat and Sweetness

I was paired with the studio owner during the shift from Lyrical into Stillness. We clasped hands and engaged in a lovely pas de deux, our breath slowing and our movements growing softer and softer. Had I not been just utterly sweaty at that point, I would have given myself more fully, but I was afraid of pressing my glistening back all over her delicate blouse. It was still a sweet moment.

If the FBI or CIA or a stalker was trying to pull together a profile of me based on what I’ve recently watched on Netflix, here’s what they’d find (we’ll start with the obvious first):

Girly Girl Nonsense

Felicity, Dance Academy, and…

Blue Crush 2

Do you know I actually own the original Blue Crush on DVD? I’m not sure what’s more embarrassing, that or the fact I sat down to watch this hideous sequel. Any sequel that features zero of the original’s characters is set up for disappointment. Also, I love how the 16-year-old main character runs away from her LA mansion and flies to South Africa on her own, on a whim. I hate how I get so mad at dumb movies.

Picture Me

Yes, this is technically a documentary but it’s one about runway models and the drama that goes on behind the cameras. I felt like I was watching “America’s Next Top Model: The Movie.” Ick.

Smart Comedy

Parks and Recreation

The latest “husband-and-wife” joint TV series. Sit down and talk to each during dinner? Bah! Bryan and I settle back in our IKEA chairs and watch 24 minutes of rib-busting comedy. Any time Ron Swanson says anything about meat or bacon or breakfast food, there is a good chance my husband is going to laugh so hard that the cushion falls off the chair with him.

30 Rock

The pre-Parks and Recreation joint TV series that I always thought was the funniest show on the planet…until I met Leslie Knope et al. Still, I’m not going to deny the award-winning dynamics between Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin. I also love that Bryan jokingly started calling it “that 30 Rockefeller Plaza” show.

Portlandia

I may not live in Portland, but I’m at Whole Foods and yoga studios and farmers markets enough that I totally get the hippie humor.

Nostalgia

Santa Claus: The Movie

This movie defined my childhood Christmases, and oh!, I had such a love-hate relationship with Dudley Moore as Patch, the traitor elf. I always envisioned the guy who played Santa in this movie to be the REAL Santa, ’cause he was just so perfect in the role. Every other movie Santa is just a fraud.

Giorgio Moroder presents Metropolis

As a kid, I remember seeing my dad watch this at home and it kind of freaked me out. What’s with the olde tyme film? The lack of sound? That robot lady is creepy! So when I found it on Netflix, of course I had to watch it. I’ve never seen the original film, but this 1980s presentation of a German silent movie from the 20s–complete with Pat Benetar and Freddy Mercury soundtrack–is just as creepy now as it was for me as an 8-year-old.

Twin Peaks

Again, this is something I remember my dad being very interested in, but at the time it was on TV I was at no age to be watching such a creepy/messed up/whacked out/WTF show. Bryan and I whipped through the series late last year, and I can safely say it is the weirdest show we’ve ever watched. But…I kind of loved it too? Or maybe I just loved Kyle MacLachlan. And finally–FINALLY!–I understand the Red Room dream sequence in the “Who Shot Mr. Burns?” episode of The Simpsons. Burns suit, burns suit…Burns’ suit!!

Disturbing Documentaries/Real-Life TV

The Sun Behind the Clouds

I’ve been to Tibet and know the situation. The Dalai Lama’s escape, the influx of Chinese, the loss of culture, the threat of imprisonment for standing up for Buddhist beliefs. Watching this documentary was a bit masochistic, because I know there is no happy ending for Tibet. I kind of lost it when they starting showing footage of monks being beaten.

Frontline–Facing Death

Hey, so nothing is more depressing than a PBS special about end-of-life decisions. But one of the publications I edit is about geriatric care, and since I’m always reading about these difficult situations I thought that watching a true-life documentary about them may give me a new perspective when working with such material. Also, unfortunately, I have a few friends with family members who are approaching end of life, and I thought it may be beneficial to at least be familiar with their situation.

Waiting for “Superman”

I have a lot of friends who work in education, and I remember there being quite a buzz on Facebook when this movie came out in theaters, because, basically, it slams the current state of public schools. This movie did what every documentary does to me…leaves me feeling helpless and crying, “It’s not fairrrrrrr!!!!!!”

30 Days

What happens when an atheist has to live in a Christian household for 30 days? Or a redneck moves in with a Muslim family? OK, so perhaps this show is a bit like Wife Swap, but what I like about 30 Days is that it’s much more realistic. People actually know what they’re getting into and don’t act “surprised” or angry when they have to do something outside of their comfort zone. The angle isn’t so confrontational, there aren’t any “rules changing” ceremonies, and the participants actually seem open to learning about something new.

Life In a Day

A collection of YouTube videos from all over the world documenting 24 hours from one day, from people brushing their teeth to sheep farming to a family dealing with cancer. The concept is so simple, the result a captivating movie about how “any old day” is anything but.

Miscellaneous

Fireplace For Your Home

So I made fun of this when I first saw it was available on Netflix, but I ended up using for real when I needed something calming to accompany a cold-night home yoga practice. Dude, sometimes a candle just isn’t enough, OK?!

What surprising things are on your Recently Watched list?