A love letter to movement

I remember the early days.

Riding a tricycle around the black top at my preschool by the sea.

Doing the Mexican Hat Dance with my first dance teacher and my toddler brother chasing me.

Taking my first ballet class at 8 and performing in more Nutcrackers than I can remember.

Crushing the competition in the 4x100 relay at my elementary school’s Olympic Day.

The freedom.

The joy. 

The pride.

I didn’t know how important you’d become.

I didn’t know that you’d open doors for me.

I didn’t know that you’d become my refuge, my peace, and my purpose.

There were times when I played small. When I didn’t explore your vastness in my body enough. Dance bigger, they said. Take up more space.

But eventually I did - performing on huge stages; choreographing from my heart; setting big, hairy, audacious goals and crushing them. 

For this painfully shy little girl, you gave me the confidence to express myself. And then we became something more.

You showed me how to celebrate my own existence.

You helped me find connection with myself and with something greater.

You proved to me that I am powerful beyond my beliefs. 

As I got older and life became more complicated, you held my heart.

After my brother’s best friend succumbed to his mental illness, I felt physically paralyzed, but I found comfort in watching old dance tapes. 

I turned to you the morning after learning about my mentor’s sudden death. I collapsed on my yoga mat and wept in child’s pose. And then I moved to process the shock. 

When life’s challenges felt insurmountable, you gave me the space to tap into my courage and realize my resilience.

And then you surprised me.

You invited me to burst out of my comfort zone and swim, bike, and run long distances. Running across that Half Ironman finish line was pure bliss.

And then 5 months after becoming a mother, you challenged me to tackle a Half Marathon - waking up early to pump and then hitting the cold, winter, NYC streets to train.

You’ve helped me come home to myself.

You’ve allowed me to get out of my head and into my body - where there’s peace, trust, and truth. 

And for that - for all of that - I am forever grateful.

It is a privilege and an honor to move. To be enlivened by you.

It’s impossible to share all that you mean to me, but I’ll articulate the words as they come through. 

In the meantime, let’s keep this relationship going - or, shall I say, moving.