i love my feet. feet that can dance like a four-year-old, twirling in front of the mirror at the YMCA. shaking her hips and not worrying what anyone else is doing, lost in the music. during Nia the other night, i was transported back to that room at kripalu, the drum beats pounding like my heart. that girl in the grass-green dress, hair wild with sweat, those first few wobbly steps toward healing. there is something about getting lost in the rhythm, being completely overtaken by the moment. not worrying about style or grace, but dancing for the pure, whimsical spirit of it. Nia is like that for me. a celebration of femininity, of power and strength. these are the experiences i need to keep returning to.
"what do you want to be when you grow up?" i never realized how completely ridiculous this question is. how are we to know, at say 7 years old, what we want to be? at 36, i still don't know what i want to be. and i definitely don't want to grow up. i believe we grow into. that over time, we grow more toward a complete picture of ourselves. we become more comfortable in our own skin. we bloom into something more magnificent as the years pass. i have enjoyed that evolution, the transition from one side of myself into another. never losing the past, but using it to refine the image. we turn the dial of the kaleidoscope, ever-changing in its beauty.
i am looking at my daughter, exploring her reflection in the mirror. does she understand it is her own image looking back at her? what will she think when she does this in one year? in 16? will she like the nose her dad and i gave her? will she smile at her pretty skin, will she like her teeth? her hair? i think back to that writing class at the jung center all those months ago. d and i both writing of this baby girl not yet conceived. and now she sits in front of me. the pink i always hated has crept into her wardrobe, her toys. and i am embracing the femininity of it all. delighting in the dresses, the rag doll given to her because it has dreadlocks like her mama.
for so many months all of my creative energy was channeled into this new life I see before me. this bright-eyed, curious little being I could not have imagined would bring so much joy to my heart. and as I settle into this motherhood thing, I feel the pull of the ink to paper, of my dusty camera beckoning me. that old familiar call to create. to pour myself onto the canvas and feel the weight of the brush in my hand. I am ready. ready to infuse my art with the magic of a child's smile. to share the light that has illuminated all that I do. to start reeling in those old parts of my life that have been floating free all these months. i'm ready to sail again.
it's as if my muscles have forgotten the motion. as if the slow dance that was pen flowing along page has lost its music. i need practice. need to write more than thank you notes and to do lists. i need one hour a day for ME. to write, meditate, return to my yoga practice. i will turn this "need" into action. i commit to 30 posts in 30 days. i commit to my membership at the ymca. i commit to the self-care i preach daily to my patients and their caregivers. i will get up early...warm-up to the day slowly. in that quiet space between night and morning, i will delight in the silence made just for me.