I've always had a particular appreciation for having a sense of touch. Even as a kid, I loved hands. I admired their structure, the many bones, the sensitivity of fingertips, the marvelous connection they had with the brain so that a hand could cradle an egg or grip a brick-- a feat that apparently computer scientists also appreciate.
That appreciation extends to all kinds of physical sensation and abilities of the body. I love dance, a love that was intensified and deepened in the exacting, intense, visionary classes I took with Mr.Savage at Shawl Anderson back in the day.
These days, any time I spend even five minutes on a mat for gentle yoga is precious time. There's a magical thought I have every time I'm practicing at home, or the rarer moments when I'm in a studio (somehow, I have to be on a floor, a floor floor, a dance floor or a sprung floor).
That thought is: There is nothing else more important I could be doing.
The other time in life I'd had that thought was when I was nursing my babies.
It's pretty much the most liberating, exhilarating thought I have, to affirm that what I'm doing is worthwhile. Especially when I'm doing something that's solely for my own enjoyment and health. It's very easy to put that kind of thing off when there are a million tasks for work and for the kids and for the household and even for the dog that must be done.
It's very easy, and that's probably why I do it -- that is, put off movement and exercise -- all the time.
But these days, having discovered again how essential movement and exertion and sensation are to me, I'm moving yoga and exercise up on my priority list. I'll have to discover it again daily, and this is a challenge in the daily hubbub. But it's who I am, and that's not something that can stay buried.