Finding the right movement.
I’ve been looking for it for years – the one that fits my rhythm of life (which also changes from time to time), the amount of air I know how to breath, the speed of my thought, that sometimes flies really fast, but sometimes wishes to slow, to just be, to quiet down.
The one that will soften, elongate but will also make the blood flow, bring a smile to the face, lighten a sparkle in my eye and will make me get out of the house at 9PM or 6AM. Hours in which, let’s be frank, the movement is especially slow.
I move between the dance world which I owned when I was much younger, to failing attempts of running after marathoners (because let’s be honest here, running is pretty boring). Passing yoga teacher after yoga teacher. Starting with the one who spoke of enemas and wore a white turban (Kandulini), through the shapely blond one who wore only tights (Hatha), ending with the one who tied me up in restraints and leaned me against a pile of cubes (hi Iyengar). Contracting my annular muscles in endless Pilates classes, separating my spinal vertebrae, hoping it will erect my posture a little higher, so later I can save up on the height of my heels.
Walking in the fields, listening to audio books and favorite singers, just so they’ll pass those 45 minutes. Trying to get my pulse a few clicks higher and to find my way back home.
Along the way I tried Zoomba and Mamba and boxing and kicking, ab’s, glute’s and thighs and “just lay on that fit ball and let everything work. On its own.” Yeah right.
And still I’m looking for the right movement. Before I find it, I first have to match it with the best outfit.