Tag: dance

How I’ve Been Shaking Out My Pain Since Losing My Daughter

“Movement has incredible healing power.” ~Alexandra Heather Foss

My ten-year-old daughter, who had been ill for all her life, was dying. She was hooked up to tubes and monitors, and they were always going off. Her numbers were off the charts, and the doctors kept saying, “Your daughter’s numbers aren’t normal, and we would normally have a team coming in here to check on her breathing and to rouse her.”

After the last operation, one doctor said she was surprised that she was still alive when she came into work. We all were. She kept fighting. She would just be sleeping heavily, deeply, and then would wake with a massive smile on her face and a giggle, as if it to say, “Ha! I fooled you again.” She kept fooling us… until she didn’t anymore.

My husband and I made the decision to turn those monitors off because they were not helping her or us, as the constant beeping with no action was just stressing us all out. It was a massive decision. The doctors had done everything they could, and there was no miracle cure.

During this time, we were having daily conversations with the doctors about what her body would look like and feel like when she was going to die, what we could expect. We had to make decisions that no parent would want to make—about where we wanted her to die: home, hospice, or hospital.

We talked about all the different scenarios. They were trying to prepare us for the worst. Her little body was failing her. She had a rare genetic issue, and the future was bleak because she wasn’t well or strong enough for any other operations.

She couldn’t walk or talk; she couldn’t hold herself up; she had scoliosis, brain damage, and hip dislocation, as well as a horrible condition called dystonia. She had lived her life with a smile on her face but was in the most unimaginable pain daily.

Doctors were telling us that they had reached the end of the road, and that either we could stay in the hospital or choose to go home with an even stronger set of medications than we had arrived with.

Around this time, I found myself jumping around and shaking my arms and legs.

Doctors, nurses, and my husband would look at me, and I would say I needed to get it out. It was the stress. It helped calm my nervous system; it helped calm me even though my whole body was in a state of mass fear and my whole world was crashing around me.

We had nearly a whole extra year—we tried so much—and then on that last day I went into her room at home and she looked awful. I knew it was the end.

I rang the ambulance, and they came and asked us what we wanted to do. Then they confirmed our worst fears.

We had an end-of-life plan in place; again, something that no parent ever should have to write. We loved her so much.

I held her, I cuddled her, and I loved her. I love her still so much.

Since she has died, I have felt empty, but I am trying my best to forge a way forward.

I had a terrible childhood, one of fear and abandonment. It led me down a path of being needy, constantly needing reassurance. I haven’t loved myself at all. Whenever people broke up with me, it reignited those feelings of fear, that I wasn’t enough.

When I was under ten my mother broke my arm, tried to drown me, scared me, and decided with my father to leave me on the side of the road when I was naughty. The house was full of arguing, my mother narcissistic and unwilling to take any responsibility for any of her failings. We, the people around her, had to adapt ourselves to her and her mood.

I then went to school and was bullied. My sense of self-worth was shot. Where was I safe?!

I met my husband and we are happy, and I thought my life was complete when we had our beautiful daughter.

I was scared she wouldn’t love me, that she would love my husband more. She seemed to know what I needed. She would have mummy days and daddy days, or both of us days. I didn’t mind sharing her love. The mummy days were hard work (as they entailed being with her 24/7) but, oh my, the look of love on her face. When I looked at her, I felt so loved and I loved her.

Since she died, I have been doing things to heal myself that I never would have tried before. Ecstatic dance—two hours where I keep my eyes closed and dance but, actually, I find myself shaking the whole time, like I did in hospital, and crying, letting it all out. Shaking my arms and kicking my legs out over and over again.

I have seen a healer and had a dynamic breathing session, where I howled like a wounded animal for everything that I have been through and what I have lost—my childhood and now my child.

Since being home, I have been having hypnotherapy and more dynamic breathing sessions, as well as EMDR therapy. All with the view of healing myself, trying to love myself. My body has hurt more than I realized is possible. While dynamic breathing, the pain I felt in my stomach before I breathed it out was immense. Physical pain from mental pain.

I feel like my daughter gave me love, and I am honoring her by making sure that this next part of my life is going to be healthy. I am going to hug myself, breathe deeply, and try to calm the nervous people-pleaser inside of me. It’s going to be hard, but by now, at fifty, I feel I am ready to do the work.

Wish me luck!

Rest in peace my Taylor Swift-loving Ella Bella. She was eleven when she died.

We will dance for you when we see Taylor next year.

And for anyone out there who’s dealing with unbearable pain of their own, I can’t promise you the pain will ever fully go away. But maybe, like me, you’ll find a little relief in moving your body to get some of it out.

November 14, 2023
When You Dance with Discomfort, Surprising Things Can Happen

“I wish for a world where everyone understands that discomfort is the price of legendary. And fear is just growth coming to get you.” ~Robin S. Sharma

For years, I felt like the most incredible dancer. Whenever I heard music, no matter where I was, I would start moving, at first slowly and then, as the music started to infuse my soul, with increasing abandon. In that moment, I was filled with passion, and I completely let go. It was me and the music—no-one and nothing else. I was in another world.

When I danced in front of others, I would take great delight and bask in all the applause showered upon me for sharing such a passionate performance. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Why would I? Dancing brought so much happiness into my life, and I felt free every time. That’s all I wanted: joy and freedom.

But, no matter how many times I danced, it always ended in the same way: I would come crashing back down to earth with an almighty thud. You see, it wasn’t real. The dancing, the applause, the joy and freedom I felt; it was all a figment of my imagination. It had been going on for over five long years.

The truth is, I wanted to dance not just in my head but for real. I wanted to take classes and learn to dance to the best of my ability, but I was too scared. I was scared of being ‘past it.’

I believed that no-one my age took dance classes, or at the very least, only a few. And I didn’t like the idea of being the oldest in the class trying to keep up with the younger ones and only managing to look like some fool.

But my desire to dance eventually overtook any fears I had. It’s as if the desire took on a life of its own, and the more I dreamt about dancing, the stronger my desire burned, until the point where it burned so strongly that it finally set my fear alight.

And with my fear going up in flames, the ongoing thoughts that had such a hold on me weakened, and I found myself scanning websites for classes in my area. Finally, after all those years of being held back by fear, I booked myself onto a course. I was finally going to dance for real.

I never expected to step into the studio and dance in the same way I danced in my head. I was a complete beginner after all. I certainly harbored a secret desire to pick up my chosen dance style effortlessly and without making barely any mistakes but of course, that didn’t happen.

My perfectionist side reared its head often. I knew I had a long way to go and that I would make many mistakes but still, I wanted to dance properly, and I wanted instant gratification. My understanding that it would take time and my inner ‘Ms Perfection’ clashed greatly, but I kept going.

Watching the other students in my class and falling into the comparison trap didn’t help. Even though it was a complete beginners’ class, everyone had different abilities. Some stumbled a lot, others seemed to pick everything up without having to think about it, or so it seemed, and still others looked as though they may have had some previous dance experience, perhaps in a different style.

I would look at them and often wish I could be like them, but that was usually when I believed I wasn’t progressing quickly enough. That would lead to me becoming increasingly angry with myself and spoiling my own enjoyment of the very thing I had been wanting to do for years.

The one thing I was relieved about the most, however, was not being the oldest, which happened only once and even then, it didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.

So there I was, fully immersed in my weekly dance class and loving every moment, when I wasn’t getting frustrated with myself, and all I could think about was other classes I could join. I never for one second imagined that there would be a bonus to following my heart’s desire, and I never expected to want to push myself further.

As for the final surprise before the year’s end, I never would have thought it could have been possible. I thought that was it; I busted through my dancing fear—or rather, my desire engulfed my fears on my behalf—and I was happy.

The bonus came in the form of a clearer mind, which makes sense, considering that I no longer spent hours stuck in my head dancing and then constantly thinking and worrying about why I couldn’t do it for real.

And then, because I felt the need to stretch myself a little further, a few months down the line, I found myself enrolled on a drama course. Me, taking drama classes. It was, in fact, a course for the more quiet person, so although it was a slightly adapted version of what you might consider a traditional drama class, I did it, and it was a big deal for me.

But the biggest surprise was quitting refined sugar. I always had a slight sweet tooth, but after thirty days of being on a wheat-, grain-, dairy- and sugar-free program, I didn’t want to go back.

I was proud of the fact that I managed thirty days without sugar and wanted to continue, even if it were simply to see how long I could keep going. And to this day, nearly four years later, I’m still added-sugar-free and don’t feel the need to change anything. All this, I believe, came from honoring my soul’s calling.

Would I have taken a drama class if I had never initially taken dance classes? I don’t think so. Would I have started a thirty-day wheat-, grain-, dairy- and sugar-free programme and continued with my added-sugar-free life? I don’t believe so. Why? Because dancing led to me wanting to grow in other areas. I was already expressing myself through dance, so wanting to improve how I expressed myself verbally followed.

Because I was feeling good about the exercise I was getting each week through dance, I wanted to focus on my health even more. It now scares me to think what would have happened had I not ‘got over myself.’ I would have remained stuck in my head, pretending.

I would never have given drama classes a second thought, and I probably would have kept on eating more refined, sugary foods than I had wanted, experiencing the uncomfortable sugar highs and lows. I’m overjoyed that I allowed my desire to take over and help me to ignore my fears of taking dance classes. So here’s to following our soul’s calling and allowing it to enrich our lives.

August 13, 2020
How We Dance to It

November 19, 2019
The Difference Between Letting Go and Running Away

“It’s about our ability to leave our death on the battlefield of life. Or having the strength and courage to give them our love and to bring them back.” ~Edward Frenkel

It took me almost twenty years to realize that running away from ourselves isn’t the same as letting go. That realization, as with so many others, came at a time when I was at one of my lowest points.

The day everything changed began as one of the worst of my life.

I was struggling with the breakup of a long-term relationship. We’d been due to move in together when I discovered he’d betrayed my trust so badly that remaining in a relationship was impossible.

I was working long hours in a job I’d grown to hate and I was exhausted. I was barely sleeping, and when I did it was the kind of nightmare-filled, fitful sleep that took forever to return from.

I’d wake up each morning feeling as though I’d been in a battle as I slept. My fatigue was so overwhelming that I could barely manage to keep my house clean and parent my son.

I was beat, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

My son was staying with his grandmother for the weekend, and once I no longer had to hold it together for him the floodgates opened. It was more than the loss of the man I’d believed I would spend the rest of my life with; it was the knowledge that my life had become passionless across the board.

I wanted to live a creative life, to sustain myself and my son via spiritual and creative expression. But I felt blocked at every turn and I could no longer hold in my grief and desolation.

I spent hours wandering from room to room in my silent house. Every now and then I would curl up on the floor and howl uncontrollably. Eventually, I couldn’t cry any longer and I wrapped myself in my duvet and put videos on autoplay, hoping to distract myself into numbness.

That’s when it happened. I was half-listening to a talk by the mathematician Edward Frenkel. I’d heard it before and enjoyed it, but this time something he said utterly gut-punched me.

He said:

“Do you leave your deaths on the battlefield of life, or do you have the strength and courage to give them your love and bring them back?”

And that was when I knew Edward Frenkel and I had something in common. We both knew something about dying.

Frenkel described a time in his life he had only recently begun to understand. It was a moment when he was sixteen and he was refused a place at university in Russia because of his Jewish heritage.

Despite going on to become wildly successful in his field, he spent years disconnected to the sixteen-year-old adolescent inside of him. To the pain of that moment when his dreams were crushed.

As I listened suddenly she was there again. The girl I had tried to forget. The girl I had left on my own battlefield.

I’d spent years training as a contemporary dancer. I won scholarships and top roles in performances as well as competitions in choreography. I was young, talented, passionate, and obsessed.

One dance school called me more than others and I dreamed of finishing my training there. The day of the audition, on my seventeenth birthday, I traveled to that dance school, floating on a wave of excitement, nerves, and a sense of ‘rightness.’ Of knowing this was exactly where I needed to be.

The process was emotionally brutal. Only five people out of a cohort of over forty were called to the next stage after doing group classes and individual solos. The rest were told to go home, as they’d been unsuccessful.

I was one of the five. I waited in the corridor for my physical exam and interview. The instructor told us to relax, we’d passed the dance part of the audition and now it was just wrapping up the formalities. We talked about what it would be like in September when we started.

I went home and slept in a kind of peaceful joy, knowing my dreams were coming true.

Three days passed and the letter arrived. I began to tear it open, barely registering that it didn’t look quite right.

It wasn’t a thick envelope, stuffed full of information about course equipment and places to live; this envelope was small and thin. Inside was a letter that simply said they regretted to inform me I had been unsuccessful.

And that was the day a part of me died. She stayed dead for a very long time.

I wasn’t as strong as Edward Frenkel, who continued with Math. I know nothing about his home life, but mine at the time was awful.

Layers of trauma from a close relative’s mental health issues were taking their toll. I’d witnessed multiple suicide attempts and holding it together for my mother, who was struggling to cope, had torn into my psyche.

Dance had been my refuge from all that. The one thing that had never let me down. The one thing I trusted, believed in, and knew with everything I had I would do with my life.

The shock of the rejection floored me. I didn’t know what to do. I cried, once.

And then? I ran.

I wasn’t strong enough to pick myself up and audition again the next year. Instead, I ran away. I ran to an older, abusive boyfriend. I ran to university instead of dance school. I ran to drugs. I ran to self-harm that lasted right up until the day I became a mother.

That day almost twenty years later, as I listened to Edward Frenkel’s words I realized that at aged thirty-six I was still running. Part of me had died that day; the part of me that was filled with creative passion and obsession. The part of me that felt a spiritual flow and call so deep there were no words for it.

I’d spent years putting a band-aid on the pain. I busied myself with little creative projects, even danced a bit as a hobby. I’d told myself it was okay and I had to let her go. Let go of the passion I’d once felt, the sense of rightness and surety.

But I was kidding myself. I hadn’t been letting her go all those years. I’d been running away from her, running away from the pain of rejection. And not only that, the fear of rejection was still so great I was running from my current creative dreams.

That day my head began spinning. Could I go back for her? For that girl I’d left dead on the battlefield of my life? How could I, after so many years of rejecting her?

I paced my room for a few more minutes and then slowly something shifted. I picked up the phone and I called a good friend. That night we drove to the beach.

I’ve always had an affinity for the sea. It’s where I feel the most alive and peaceful. The stars were out in the clear night sky and pools of water on the sand held the moon’s reflection. I walked alone to the water’s edge and quietly I began to talk to that girl.

She was angry. Hurt. I’d rejected her and denied her existence for so many years. But slowly, she began to listen.

I told her that yes the dream we’d had was over and I was sorry for running away from that dream. I told her I was sorry for running away from her. I told her I loved her. Deeply and completely. And, I told her that if she wanted, we could create a new dream together.

There were a few moments of silence and then I felt her. She was inside me, still. And I realized that all those years I’d been trying to forget her, to ‘let go’ of her, to surrender her passions, when what I really needed to do was embrace her.

In order to let go of the pain, I had to accept it, allow it, and integrate it and my past self into who I was now.

Killing her had done nothing for me. It was only by having the strength and courage to give her my love and bring her back to me that I could stop letting the shattered dreams of the past rule my dreams in the present.

That night I slept properly for the first time in weeks and when I woke up I knew what to do.

For so many years I’d played at the edges of a creative career. I’d told myself it was “unrealistic” or I’d get round to it “one day.” But I was lying to myself.

The truth was I’d been so afraid to feel the rejection of my passion again that I sidelined every opportunity that came my way.

This is what happens when we cut ourselves off from our passions in an attempt to protect ourselves from pain. Because we’ve been hurt, we try to stay safe by remaining wherever feels comfortable, even if that comfort is actually preventing us from accessing potential joy. But without risking pain, we prevent ourselves from growing, and the irony is that by holding ourselves down to ensure we don’t fall we actually create far more pain in the long run.

When we go outside of our comfort zones and risk falling it opens up a whole new world of purpose, excitement, and engagement.

Realizing this was difficult but liberating.

A year after that morning I’d quit the job I hated and was making a living from writing, my other great creative passion. It wasn’t easy. Facing down every objection my mind could throw up about why I should just go back to what was familiar was challenging and sometimes exhausting. Sometimes it hurt like hell. To date, I’ve had my writing rejected more times than I can count.

But with each rejection, she’s there. I hold her close. I tell her I love her.

Together we dance. Then we begin again.

February 12, 2018
Why We Need to Stop Chasing Success and Start Enjoying the Little Things in Life

The philosopher Alan Watts always said that life is like a song, and the sole purpose of the song is to dance.

He said that when we listen to a song, we don’t dance with the goal of getting to the end of the music. We dance to enjoy it.

This isn’t always how we live our lives. Instead, we rush through our moments, thinking there’s always something better, there’s always some goal we need to achieve. This is my journey through a song without the dance and the lessons I’ve learned, from Alan Watts, along the way.

“Existence is meant to be fun. It doesn’t go anywhere; it just is.”

I sat in my car, fixated on my hands. Hot tears welled in my eyes and slowly streamed down my cheeks. I lost focus of the very thing that held the answer to my problem.

I remember thinking about how my nails grow on their own, how my hair grows and my heart beats, and the tears fall. All without effort or pain, these things happen. They’re effortless. Why was life so difficult?

At twenty-two, my goal was to be successful. I wanted to be someone—to have more and be more than I thought I was. I needed to justify something to the world, but I didn’t know what I was trying to prove.

I was a mother at eighteen years old; it was a setback but never a regret. Even so, I felt judged. At twenty-three I had my second daughter. I was a wife with two kids and a low-paying job.

I had a loving husband and two beautiful kids, but I wasn’t happy. I wanted more. In the quest for more, I traded my time for a particular brand of success. The kind of success that you can only achieve through money and status. Something precious for something I felt would give me vindication from society.

“The whole point of dancing is the dance.”

When I was twenty-eight, I had done all the things society tells us to do. I went to college, I got a high-paying job, and I was climbing my way to the top. I was lucky, but it didn’t feel that way. The goal was to have everything and make it look effortless. Except it wasn’t effortless, and nothing came easy. I had missed the point; I’d played the song, but I didn’t dance.

“You live life by analogy, a journey with a pilgrimage to get to the end success, heaven, whatever. You missed the point; you were supposed to dance.”

I became a government contractor, far from a dream, but it brought success. Maybe you became an insurance salesman or a real estate agent. Like me, you work hard every day. You get up and go through the routine that you know will make you successful. You work harder and longer hours because you know that if you just keep working, success will come.

Then you turn forty. You’re exhausted. Life has taken its toll, but you’ve made it. You’re successful. This existence is what you worked for; it’s everything your ego wanted, and you did it. You traded the precious moments for eighty-hour workweeks, but you did it. Now you can dance. Now life can start.

You look around at your beautiful home and your expensive cars. There comes the point when you realize that the cars and the house don’t feel the way you imagined they would. These are symbols of your success. Your ego needed them, but your heart needed something far more valuable.

“I must survive means you are not playing.”

Perhaps your story isn’t like mine, and at forty you’re still working a dead-end job, working to pay the bills. Wishing you had more time with the ones you love. I know it’s not easy. To compare my story to yours would be missing the point of the message.

The point is, no matter how far you get or how hard you work, you will always want to get to the next level. Sure, material things bring comfort, but they don’t bring happiness. You will always be where you are in your heart until you realize that life isn’t about material possessions.

Our lives are not about things and status. Even though we’ve made ourselves miserable with wanting, we already have everything we need. Life is meant to be lived. If you can’t quit your job tomorrow, enjoy where you are. Focus on the best parts of every day. Believe that everything you do has a purpose and a place in the world.

Happiness comes from gratitude. You’re alive, you have people to miss when you go to work, and you get to see them smile every day. We all have to do things we don’t want to do; we have to survive. When you find yourself working for things that don’t matter, like a big house or a fancy car, when you could be living, you’ve missed the point. You’re playing the song, but you’re not dancing.

“A song isn’t just the ending. It’s not just the goal of finishing the song. The song is an experience.”

I remember going to school at night when I could have been home with my daughters. My little girls cried at the door as I left them. I tried to reason with myself. I was doing all of this for them.

I wanted my daughters to be proud of their mother. I was setting a good example. Their mother was going to be someone for them. As I turned my back on them, I cried too. I hated that I had to leave.

In truth, I made a choice to leave them. Everything we do in life is a choice that we’ve made. Telling ourselves that we don’t have a choice is the biggest lie of them all.

I made excuses and created a hero version of myself that was doing it all for my family. My daughters didn’t need status. I needed that. All they needed was me. Some days the tears were flowing so much I couldn’t drive, so I sat in my car and I fixated on my hands. I wondered why my nails had it so easy.

I was so close to understanding that growth is all we have to do. There’s no effort in growing or dying. These things are inevitable. We make it difficult because we choose to.

My hair grew, and my heart beat without effort or understanding. These seemingly simple things understood a lot more about life than I did as a whole person.

All I had to do was be, exist, experience, love, and have gratitude, but I didn’t. My struggle went on for years. It was far from the picturesque life I was trying to achieve. I chose to do it anyway.

“Try to sleep, and you can’t sleep. You’ve got to let go. If you don’t, you’ll constantly try and keep yourself wound up.”

I think about my struggle for success, working during the day and going to school at night. Missing my husband and my kids, I thought someday this would all get easier. When I think back on that time in my life, I never wish I had worked harder.

I wish I had more memories with my family.

Now I have everything I wanted back then, but it doesn’t feel like you’d think it would feel. What was I expecting? I didn’t feel any different than I always felt, except that I had a corner office, a fancier house, and nicer clothes.

An ideally located office—this is what it all came down to in the end? It’s very anticlimactic when the new car smell wears off, and all you have is a large payment and more hours at work.

We all think that when we’re at the top, everything should be amazing, but it’s not. Your children have grown older, and you don’t remember the little things.

“…tomorrow and plans for tomorrow can have no significance at all unless you are in full contact with the reality of the present, since it is in the present and only in the present that you live.”

You feel cheated of your time, cheated by time. Now you have to make up for it. You have to live, make the most of what you have left. So you set another goal.

This time you’ll build memories and see places and do things you never got the chance to do. The list grows, and you wonder how you’ll get it all done and still make your large mortgage payment. You work more hours so you can do all this stuff “someday.” You’ve overwhelmed yourself again.

You’re missing the point.

Stop wanting more; be grateful for today. Live in the moment. Cherish your life and the time you have in this world. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, then it wasn’t meant to; let it go.

“We think if we don’t interfere, it won’t happen.”

There’s always an expectation, always something that has to get done. You pushed aside living so that you could live up to an expectation that doesn’t exist to anyone but you. The expectation is always there because you gave it power. To live, you’ve got to let it go.

You save all your money so that you can retire. You live to retire. Then you get old, and you’re too tired to live up to the expectation you had of retirement; you never realize your dreams.

At forty you felt cheated; at eighty you are cheated. You cheated yourself the whole way through to the end.

“Your purpose was to dance until the end, but you were so focused on the end that you forgot to dance.”

I quit my job at forty, I worked too much, and I never got the chance to live. I don’t have a powerful position. I have a job with less stress. I’m not holding the weight of the company on my shoulders. I also make a lot less money.

I can work fewer hours and live with less stuff, but I’ll never get back what I’ve lost. Money, fancy cars, and a big house will never give back my time. The moments, the little things, live in the past; they’re gone.

“Life should be easy and fun, effortless, but we rarely let it be what it is.”

We’re always striving for more, never satisfied with where we are. More is always better. Happiness and fulfillment are always just out of reach. When we’re growing up, we strive to finish song school. Then the goal is college, then grad school. We have a family, and we live through the challenges of life, but we never stop to realize the grace in each moment. We never dance.

Gratitude for life itself is still ahead of me. The song is still playing, and it’s never too late to live in the present and enjoy the dance.

August 31, 2017
Learning to Dance in the Rain

Source: Lessons Learned in Life

January 30, 2016
Old Movie Dance Scene Mash-Up to Uptown Funk

I’m a huge movie buff, and I love me a good classic. I also get giddy when I watch a talented dancer moving their body like I only wish I could. If you’re anything like me, you too will appreciate this awesome mash-up of old movie dance scenes, set to Uptown Funk, by Bruno Mars.

November 19, 2015
Tiny Tot Lights Up the Stage Dancing at Zumba Conference

This video of a vibrant, joyful little girl dancing brightened my day, and I’m sure it will brighten yours as well!

September 3, 2015
60-Year-Old Hip Hop Dancer Performs to Uptown Funk

I’ve been guilty of thinking there are certain things I may be too old to do—things I formerly loved and things I’ve always wanted to try. Sixty-year-old teacher Shirley Clements holds no such belief.

To celebrate her upcoming retirement, she joined her students in an epic dance routine to Bruno Mars’ “Uptown Funk,” starting with a rap and ending with a move many of her younger counterparts likely wouldn’t try. I don’t know what’s more impressive—the choreography or her vibrant spirit!

June 3, 2015
Inspiring 8-Year Old Amputee Dances Her Heart Out

Alissa Sizemore has loved dancing since she was four years old, and nothing could take that passion away from her—not even being hit by a UPS truck and losing one of her legs below the knee.

In her first performance since the accident, she danced to “Try” by Colbie Caillat, a song about embracing yourself as you are. I found this video on Hooplaha, and as the writer predicted, it moved me to tears.

April 23, 2015
Soul Pancake: Dance Walk

Do you ever feel like you’re going from one place to the next, checking this off your list, but not really enjoying the moment?

Soul Pancake made this cute little video, showing what happened when pedestrians saw a “DANCE” signal instead of a “WALK” signal, to remind us to lighten up a bit and have more fun in our daily life. Why walk when you can dance?

August 6, 2014
Be Present, Be Yourself: 5 Lessons from Dance Meditation

“While I dance I cannot judge, I cannot hate, I cannot separate myself from life. I can only be joyful and whole. This is why I dance.” ~Hans Bos

I am not a dancer. I was kicked out jazz ballet, and I am so clumsy that I once broke the mirror in an aerobics class. I don’t dance at parties, either, because to be honest I don’t enjoy it.

But turns out, just like everyone else, I am also a dancer.

A year and a half ago I was volunteering in the Turkish mountains, and after a rather upsetting situation I had the sudden urge to go out into the forest and dance, without music, in nature, in peace and safety. It was a beautiful experience, but I forgot about it soon after leaving Turkey.

Last summer a friend of mine was passionately sharing her experiences at a dance meditation class she was taking. I’m still not sure why, but I just knew in my heart it was for me. I had to try it. I found a class, went, and completely fell in love.

Movement meditation, or dance meditation, is an experience that is nearly impossible to put into words, as it is a dance without any instructions, following the music and the rhythms.

In movement meditation class, people move their bodies as they feel like it, without judgment, just letting everything go, just being present, just being themselves.

Besides running, I have never felt so safe, free, and present in the moment as during a dance class. It became my meditation, my relaxation, and a little slice of home in my heart.

Movement meditation has given me so much—so much joy, so much passion, so many smiles, so many emotions. But most of all, dance meditation has given me so many valuable lessons to be used in my life.

1. You can be part of the crowd and still be yourself.

During movement meditation we dance alone, yet we dance together. Some people, like me, prefer to mostly remain in their own world, while others would rather connect for a while. We are all part of the same crowd, yet we respect each other’s world and remain in our own dance.

It’s just like in real life: There are so many people busy running to work, to school, to pick up the kids, to get their shopping done, and so on. We pass each other; sometimes we connect and often we don’t, but we are part of the same place.

We are all connected, occupying the same planet and connected to the same universe, yet there is room to be ourselves, to express our own creative power, and to live our own passion from our heart.

2. Every body is beautiful.

I looked rather skeletal when I entered my first dance meditation class after losing too much weight, while trying to heal from a chronic health condition through various cleanses and elimination diets.

Since then, I’ve healed my health conditions and gained the weight back. My body is different now, and I would be lying if I said the change in my body shape has always been easy, but dance meditation has helped me tremendously with this process.

Every time I dance I feel my body as something connected to and part of a beautiful bigger whole rather than as a lonely and disconnected object.

Moving among other bodies, I not only feel an amazing connection, but I also experience how beautiful we are all, in body and spirit. Leaving class, walking down the street, I remind myself to respect my body, because, just like every body, it’s beautiful.

3. It is okay to change direction.

The music is different every class, and how I feel can be different every minute. Sometimes I do one thing, but then my heart changes and so does my movement. I can even sit down if I want to.

I am a person who lives a rather alternative life by society’s standard, always following her heart wherever it leads her. Dancing reassures me that it is more than okay to change direction, stop, turn back, run forward, or jump between different roads.

Dancing reassures me that the heart knows the best; therefore, it is the best to listen to the heart. The rest will follow.

4. It’s okay to do your own thing.

Looking into a dance meditation class may be crazy to a completely oblivious outsider. There are people jumping and even screaming. While others move gracefully in their beautiful slow dance, some are rolling on the floor, and yet a few are sitting in meditative pose. Everyone does their own dance, which can look chaotic at first glance.

But as my teacher often says, there is no right or wrong; whatever and however you dance is okay, and the same truth holds for life.

It is pointless to compare ourselves to others or even to our past life or future goals because we’re all different, coming from different places. Living in the present moment is a beautiful thing, and following our own instincts is the best way to live in the moment.

5. Dance from your heart, live from your heart.

Some days when I go to class I am extremely happy and I just want to put my joy on the floor. There are days when I come with sadness, anger, or frustration, which I am able to release in movement. Whatever I feel in my heart is the thing that comes out in my dance.

I truly believe in the power and importance of authenticity. Just like in dance, living an authentic, honest life from our heart gives a tremendous amount of freedom, because it’s only in acknowledging and showing our true feelings that we’re able to work through them. To live free and happy, remember to live from your heart.

Photo by m01229

July 15, 2014
5 Unusual Ways to Meditate for Simple Daily De-stressing

“Every day brings a choice: to practice stress or to practice peace.” ~Joan Borysenko

Meditating even for just two minutes every day could help reduce your anxiety, calm your mind, and energize the senses. That’s two minutes of your twenty-four hours. Two minutes that could lengthen your life as you get rid of the negative energy surrounding you and welcome the positive.

Contrary to what you may think, meditation doesn’t have to be in an empty house or room overlooking gorgeous scenery. It would be a bonus, yes, but I have proven that you can clear your mind even while doing these seemingly mundane tasks.

Let me share with you my not-so-secret ways of meditating that have always drawn more than their fair share of curiosity simply because they’re not among the most common practice.

1. Riding the bus or train to work.

I used to commute a lot. On some days, I would people-watch—create stories in my head about the people I commute with. Most of the time, I would listen to music. Until one day, while one of my favorite songs was playing, my mind just drifted away.

I wasn’t even concentrating, not even paying attention to my breathing. I just felt a sense of calm wash over me. That has been one of the most peaceful five minutes of my life.

Use long stretches of travel to meditate. A five-minute journey into your self wouldn’t make you miss your stop. Instead, it will help reduce the noises of life so you can easily receive the signals that have meaning.

2. Eating a meal.

How could you meditate while eating a meal? I can hear that question in your head. For some of us who are used to eating with the whole family, or with a big group during lunch at work, it may seem highly unlikely, as we love exchanging stories and how-our-day-has-beens.

You don’t have to keep quiet when you meditate while eating, though. You can be with family and friends but still be able to achieve that calm to silence any turbulent thoughts you may have. Eating has become a hurried, mindless task for most of us that it has been reduced to open mouth, shove food, and swallow.

Smell your food, feel its texture as you chew slowly. Is it tangy, too sweet, or too salty? The trick is to be in the moment, being aware of the sumptuous feast before you. Savor it. Enjoy it as it goes down to your body to nourish it. Eating is not a race; slow down.

Once you have mastered this, you’ll find that eating has become more pleasurable. You’ll also discover that you’ll eat less, as you are more in tune with your body’s needs.

3. Taking long showers.

They say some of the best ideas come up in the shower. Maybe it’s because showers don’t only cleanse our physical body but our mental state as well. The spray of the shower, the smell of your favorite shampoo scent all these contribute to the wonderful feeling of being one with the universe.

When I am feeling particularly troubled, I soak in the tub for a good fifteen minutes to soothe tired muscles and confused mind. The warm water entices the soul, helping draw the bad energy away so you are left with renewed spirits, being able to welcome great ideas.

4. Dancing to your favorite tune.

Dance or kundali meditation is one of the more popular, albeit a little unusual, ways to meditate. No, it doesn’t involve chanting or keeping still, but it gives you the chance to break free from whatever’s ailing you.

Dancing, while not one of my strongest suits, allows you to let go of the tension building inside your body and get in touch with your inner self. There are actually dancing meditation soundtracks you can move to, but I would recommend something familiar that you could actually sing along with or better associate with for the full experience.

5. Creating Lego figures.

As I have mentioned above, mechanical activities imitate the meditative quality of chanting. I have found, during one of those rare times I actually sat down and tinkered with my Lego pieces again, that it’s a great way to lose one’s self.

Once you have poured all your attention into all the details of your creation, you block out noise and ignore the rest of the world. We practice meditation to promote relaxation and build internal energy or life force. Taking all your Lego pieces to assemble something out of it is a great and fun way to de-stress.

See, not too bad, yes? We can all have the time to take leisurely baths or take pleasure while having dinner. Commuting doesn’t have to be such a torture. We can use these activities to go deeper into the recesses of our mind and body and find that inner peace we need to be more productive and energetic.

Photo by Misha Masha

June 9, 2014
Reflections: A Touching Performance from Two Young Sisters

Quincy and Gracie Latkovski share a passion for dancing, but they do it in two very different ways: one in ballet slippers, and one in a wheelchair. They performed this moving dance as part of 2013 WHAS Crusade for Children telethon. Just like these talented sisters, it’s both beautiful and inspiring!

March 3, 2014