Standing Back Up

Moshe Feldenkrais defined health as the ability to recover from shock. Shock can come in many forms: injury, illness, war, physical trauma, losing a job. I recently got a phone call that my fifty year old brother had been found dead of a heart attack. Even now as I sit here writing this, waves of grief flow over me, bringing unbidden tears. For a week, I had to be strong: for my mother, his daughters and my sisters as huge undertakings from caregivers to funeral arrangements took place. I don’t know how I would have been able to stay standing without the gentle support of Awareness Through Movement. When I noticed that my body was so tense it didn’t even feel as if I was touching the chair I was sitting on, I stopped and allowed my attention to soften the gripping. During moments of extreme stress, some inner voice would softly remind me to notice my breathing (which had often stopped.) Sometimes all I wanted to do was lay on the carpet and moan. Which I did. But after moaning, I remained there, quietly rolling my head, inhaling and exhaling, then slowly rolling to my side to stand back up.

As much as we think we are in control of this life, there is no guarantee that things will stay the same or that everything will go according to plan. Just when you least expect it, fate, fortune, the universe, whatever you call it, comes and knocks you up side the head. It doesn’t differentiate between rich or poor, good or bad. So instead of trying to control life, perhaps it’s better to find ways to be flexible. Then when the blow comes, you can literally roll with the punches and easily regain your balance.

One of the greatest gifts of Awareness Through Movement is the opportunity to connect with thoughts, emotions and sensations while moving. It allows the nervous system time to process the countless impressions that are streaming in every moment. After a shock, giving oneself the gift of awareness can speed the healing process.

I’m sure the months and even the years ahead will bring piercing moments of sadness as a picture falls out of a book, or I hear one of his favorite songs, or a random thought crosses my mind. But I’m standing. A little shaky maybe, but gratefully putting on foot in front of the other.

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Creative Failure

This past December after one of the many North Carolina snowstorms, we had no power for four days. No phone, no water, no light. No computer, no TV. It was hard to read by candlelight. So I decided to do something I’d been avoiding since the New Age Movement began. I was going to make a vision board.

A vision board is a collage of sorts. You gather images and glue them to paper – like a visual statement of goals or a non-verbal affirmation. Mind you, I had nothing against vision boards. In fact, I thought the idea was kind of cool. It was the cutting out and gluing part I was avoiding. The joke, “I flunked art in kindergarten,” was no joke for me. Give me a bottle of Elmer’s glue and within minutes it’s all over my clothes, the desk and of course, rippling up the images that are glued to the paper. Scissors, look out! I can cut myself on children’s scissors. And it never fails that my hand slips and slices off a part of the picture I was so carefully trimming.

I pored through every magazine. I snipped images, words, icons. I layered them, re-arranged them and finally, after two days, had my vision board. My husband Ron, who is an amazing fine artist, came over and stared. “Wow,” he said. “It’s so….neat.”

It was. Pieces fit together. No jagged edges. Cool ideas. I realized in that moment that as I had been working on the vision board, I hadn’t felt any rush. No compulsion to do a “good job.” My inner critic had taken a vacation along with the electricity. I didn’t even realize until then, that some little girl in me always felt a pressure to perform, even in doing art. In that pressure lie the roots of failure.

I’ve met people who are afraid to cook for others for the same reason. Others have even given up yoga because they weren’t “good at it.”. And yet this compulsion to perform comes from my own habitual behavior, it has nothing to do with the people we think we are performing for, or competing against.

One of the things I love about the Feldenkrais Method is that it interrupts this habit. Instead of asking students to perform, it asks students to investigate, to explore, to experience. There is no one watching how well you raise your head, or lift your leg. There is no one judging if you have “succeeded” at rolling up the “right” way. A teacher of mine once challenged the class to free itself from “the stench of striving.” And Moshe Feldenkrais would often advise his students to “Try not to try!”

It’s a paradox, that when I try less, but with more attention, more ease and presence, I accomplish much more than by straining, pushing and trying to perform. Feldenkrais lessons can help us interrupt not just our movement habits but our behavior, to allow enjoyment of every activity, not just what we are “good” at. And magically, we improve!

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An Attitude of Gratitude

Congratulations! If you’re reading this, you still have a computer, you’re not sitting out on the street, and more than likely, you will eat at least one meal today. Somehow, in spite of Bernard Madoff, Goldman Sachs, Washington Mutual, AIG, all the doom and gloom, all the betrayals and disappointments, we’re still standing (and sitting, lying down and rolling around!)

The holiday season always ramps things up: whether you are steeped in tradition and family or anti-holiday, there are always challenges to our equanimity between now and the new year. It continues to be my commitment to the community to keep prices for classes at Asheville Movement Center affordable. I haven’t raised class prices in several years and I plan to keep it that way.

In those moments when it seems there’s no time and everything is overwhelming, I’d like to offer a paradoxical suggestion: take a moment to do nothing. There only seems to be no time when I’m rushing towards the future. When I’m in the present moment, time doesn’t exist. Here’s a short exploration that can help remind you to be grateful for the present moment. Moshe Feldenkrais called this the “prayer lesson.” Or click here for a free audio version excerpted from my book: What Are You Afraid Of?

Sit comfortably in a chair and slowly bring your palms together in front of your chest. Barely touch them and then separate them slowly a few times. Feel how sensitive your fingers become. Now bring them together so that everything has a solid contact. Begin raising your hands, still palm to palm, toward the ceiling and back down in front of your chest. Notice your breath. Where do your eyes go? Your head? Repeat this several times, taking in whatever information comes up. Then rest.71

Once again bring your palms together. This time as you raise your hands and arms, raise your head and eyes. As your hands return, bring your head and eyes to neutral. Does this feel any different? Is this what you were doing before? What do you feel in your face? In your belly? Rest.

After resting, try the same thing, but this time, each time you raise your hands up, lower your head and eyes. Feel what happens to your back. Are there any images that come up for you? Rest again.

If you wish, you can repeat this, alternating the direction of your head. Allow yourself to exhale each time you raise your arms. Feel how this movement of the arms is connected to your back and chest. 72

Any time you feel insecure or lacking, take a moment to pause with your hands in front of your chest. When you are about to go into a meeting, need to make that call, are afraid you will be inadequate, take a moment. Place your hands together and do a few of these movements, sensing your breath. You can do it full out, or use very tiny movements – it’s not the size of the movement, but the attention paid to the movement that counts. As the movement centers you, perhaps gratitude will replace the feeling of lack that inhibits your possibility.

Thanks for being in my life!

Lavinia Plonka

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Bone Dance

A few years ago, I got one of those amazing viruses that totally incapacitate you for twenty four hours. At a certain point, my fever must have gone through the roof. I began to babble (unfortunately I was alone, so no one took notes of what channeled wisdom from the astral plane I may have imparted). I closed my eyes to try to calm down and suddenly saw my skeleton illuminated, as if all the other parts of me had been burned away in the fever. Every bone, my skull, the joints were visible against a brilliant red background. “How beautiful!” I exclaimed, overwhelmed by the intricacies of my structure. As I shifted in the bed, this magical hallucination animated for me, a graceful dance that involved ribs and spine, clavicles and skull. Then my fever broke.

My husband teased me, saying I was having Feldenkrais visions, but to this day, I can’t forget the sense of awe at seeing my bones moving. Mabel Todd, a movement studies pioneer from the early twentieth century once compared the human organism to a bridge, with the bones being what are called in engineering the “compression members”, like the steel and concrete pillars of the bridge .The muscles, ligaments and tendons are the “tensile members,” the suspension cables of a bridge. You can imagine what happens to the compression members and ultimately the structural integrity of a bridge if one of the cables is not exactly the right length. It would eventually collapse.

Because the human “bridge” is constantly in motion, as well as weight bearing, our suspension cables need to constantly re-organize according to our needs. Sometimes some of the muscles and tendons, due to habits, trauma, tension or other factors, begin to shorten or lengthen unnecessarily, pulling the skeleton out of its most effective uprightness. Rounded shoulders, head protruding forward, pot belly or side leaning all affect our central axis. Then, “ …more muscular effort must be exerted to maintain its position in space, which involves an unnecessary strain and waste of energy,” says Todd in her book, The Thinking Body.

You can’t just “command” your skeleton back into balance. But you can learn new, more effective habits that help balance the intricate relationship between stability and mobility. Feldenkrais lessons become like an inner dance, where awareness leads and all the other parts are delighted to follow. Try this free mini-lesson to see how your skeleton likes to dance! Happy Halloween.

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Nuances of Thought

Here is an interesting post by Bruce Zeines from the Brooklyn Free School on body language.

Posted in Brooklyn Free School by bzeines on October 23, 2009

We do not have a legitimate television in our home. That is not to say that media does not get to us here—it does. But it reaches us through Netflix or the internet. There are no newspapers here either, and we have by default, moved away from listening to the radio, except occasionally on the internet. The reason behind my media interests is that my key complaint is about commercials invading my consciousness. They not only intend to sell me. They intend to alarm. Cause stress, increase anxiety, and ultimately break us down psychologically.

Now this really has nothing to do with what I want to muse about today. It is just an introduction to my own media habit. Because even though I do not watch TV or network media in general, I have of late developed a like for one particular Fox show which I can access on Hulu.com. That show is Lie to Me.

lie_to_meIt is interesting to note, that my wife and I have both gravitated to particular shows on Hulu. She likes Bones which focuses on forensic anthropology to solve a crime, whereas I have developed a like for Lie to Me which focuses on the nuances of facial and voice inflections to disguise truth. This being used to solve mysteries.

Tim Roth plays the key scientist, Kal Lightman in Lie to Me and is expert at reading facial gestures. Little movements on the face that tell us whether his subject is hiding something, or feeling guilt or any other subtleties that are too in depth to go into here.

The reason this has occurred to me, stemmed from a conversation I had this morning with an intern at the school, and my observations of peoples faces on the subway after I left. As for the latter, I was standing on the train trying to ponder my own concerns, with calm, while at the same time, noticing that I was able to suddenly see someone overtly THINKING. The fellow I was observing, was moving his lips slightly and I could tell that he was trying to work out some major concern in his own life. As I moved onto the train, I could see that almost EVERYONE was in some state of worry or economic concern. One man was sweating profusely, with bloodshot eyes (not well?) as he stroked his forehead. Another, an orthodox Jew, was making a similar gesture, but it had the tone of business concern. All throughout the train I was in a state of heightened sensitivity to the facial nuances. What I saw everywhere was varying degrees of anxiety. This mirrored my own thoughts as I am in a period of very little paying work. I have worked hard to try to stay relaxed in the face of these life changes in order to see what my next opportunity could be. Too much worry diverts my energy, which in turn, blinds me to what is in front of me. These moments collided, and suddenly a truth that everyone was in the same pickle, but hiding it, was made apparent to me. It is one of those key insights that has altered my life at crucial times and places.

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to take a workshop with Lavinia Plonka, a movement and drama coach (http://www.laviniaplonka.com/). We worked for only an hour or two, but in that brief session, she opened a whole world of awareness about the subtle movements we all make habitually, and what they infer. For instance, when someone begins to speak, but just before speaking, they scratch their ear or nose, it usually means that what they are about to say is emotionally charged for them. It would also mean that there is an aspect to what they are about to relate, that they have not come to terms with, and therefore are about to alter the truth about what they are going to relate.

In the workshop, she had me up front, with a friend who is a professional actor. We began to mime a whole interaction simply by moving our bodies in very specific ways. He would jut his head forward. I would respond by turning my hips 45 degrees. He would respond with another movement, maybe by looking up, and I would respond by looking down. It actually was very funny to the audience watching and I learned a great deal from the interaction. It made me much more aware of many of the habitual movements I make all the time. By becoming aware of them, it has made me fine tune my manner of self expression, and acceptance of myself in a very deep way.

Now how to relate my intrigue with Tim Roth’s character, to that of being a free school parent. I can’t. But I am talking about sensitivity here. You see, what I observed on the train speaks to something else about our society that we never talk about. Everybody is affected by the economic downturn, but everyone also feels like a failure in the face of it. They struggle to contain their shame, therefore it manifests in the facial worry lines that become embedded on our skulls as we age. To accept ones’ condition, and to continue to face it in, dare I say, a Zen way, then what was a worry, now becomes an opportunity for transition. It is through this isolation, that our problems become perpetuated. In a more perfect world, we could feel free to express our concerns and fears to each other, without judgment, as a way to finding a way out of our situations, or as a way to grow community.

Now the unrelated conversation that triggered all of this, started this morning at BFS. I was sitting with an intern when one of the children just blurted out an extremely lucid and intelligent remark. It was one of those remarks, that you have to say “that came out of the mouth of a child?” The intern then began to relate to me the many things she has observed since she came to the school this year. She expressed her amazement at how our children learn in this environment. How deep and nuanced are their expressions and how complicated the games that they create.

One game she observed among the younger group was a game called Boys vs. Girls. In this game you have two forts, one with girls and the other boys. If a member of a fort tags an opposing player, they are immediately turned into the gender of the other team. What she found interesting in this game is that some of the younger ones seemed to relish being turned into a boy or a girl. What struck me, was the rich, psychological material that was being explored in the guise of a game. And another observation was that there was nothing malicious or competitive about the play. But it was very aggressive and wild.

Another thing she told me was regarding a certain young boy, who commonly gives the teachers and everyone a hard time. He throws tantrums often. He does not always respond to some of the few rules in the school. Chief among them, the STOP rule, which means that if someone says STOP, then the other has to stop what they are doing, which usually consists of bothering the other. As I am not a full timer at school, and just drop in, my observations of him have usually resulted in irritation, so I avoid too much interaction. But the intern observed this boy, who all the others have a hard time with, in an act of profuse generosity. One day at the park, he took money from his own pocket, to buy a special snack from a vendor, for all the other children to share in. The intern told me that afterward, his entire demeanor changed, and it filled him with a kind of happiness that lasted the rest of the day.

Now I will let you try to figure out if there is some connection between the two varied subjects I have written about in this post. My own feeling is that in the first, I was observing the prison we all live in. A prison constructed of worries, anxiety, shame, fear and shear fantasy of just about everything. And in the second, was seeing the rare situations where those prison bars can be diminished, or just plain obliterated. And if you have learned anything here, it is that I prefer the latter.

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Embracing Change

For a month, I kept banging my head. Unintentionally, or so it seemed. Suddenly everywhere I turned, I encountered a barrier. Obstacles leapt in to connect with my forehead, my temple, the top of my skull.
Cursing, but pushing on, I walked into more doors. I hit my head on the car door frame more than once. “You’d think after over forty years of driving, I’d remember to withdraw my head before standing up,” I told myself.
Finally I remembered. This had happened before in my life. It’s easy to block out klutz memories. This wasn’t just one of my “clumsy phases”. I hadn’t tripped over my carpet. I had not pratfalled down a slippery slope (although at least then the metaphor might have been clearer.) I hadn’t sliced half a finger off while cutting a bagel or a vinyl tile. I hadn’t poured the entire contents of a pot of stock into a colander with no pot underneath, nor baked an eggplant parmesan while forgetting the cheese. OK, I did perversely try to wipe some “schmutz” off of a scalding hot saucepan with my fingers. But I do that every day.
These latest klunks however, were head specific. One evening as my husband Ron and I were cleaning up after dinner, I stood up from stooping to the dishwasher and connected my head to an open cabinet door. “OW! I’m not happy!”
“I wouldn’t be either if I hit my head like that, are you OK?” Ron tried to smother his laughter with a look of anguished compassion.
“No, I mean, I just realized I’m banging my head because I’m not happy!” I said happily.
Everything was illuminated.
“Why aren’t you happy?” asked Ron. “Your practice is going well. You have friends. I love you. Everything is going wonderfully!”
“Well where’s the challenge in that?” I retorted.
I’ve been here before. Even down to the headbanging. At various points in my life, when life was going so smoothly that it seemed like I was just cruising along, an uneasiness would arise in me. The next thing I knew, I’d be snacking my head into the car’s side view mirror, walking into walls and once even getting hit with a brick. (Thank goodness it wasn’t a ton of bricks). My sister says it’s a habitual love of chaos. There’s truth to that, although I do believe that within what I perceive as chaos there is an implicit, hidden order. Some swirling world of probability that keeps bringing me back to the relationship between stability and mobility. “One must have chaos within oneself if one is to be a dancing star” said Nietszche.
Robert Pirsig, celebrated for his book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, wrote another less known work, Lila. Lila was a crazy, spontaneous, unpredictable woman who introduced chaos into Pirsig’s stable, routine world. He mused on the physics of dynamics vs. stability. A dynamic society is growing, learning, expanding, often after a chaotic event, like the American or Bolshevik revolution. It is reaching toward a peak, or more realistically, a plateau of stability. Once stable, it tries to hold on to what it has accomplished. But then the laws of entropy come in and the society begins to fall apart. He proposed a way of being he called “dynamic stability.”
Years later, I encountered the same terminology in Moshe Feldenkrais’ teaching. Dynamic stability is about choice. I can be still, but ready to move. I can be moving and know that I am free to stop. So many of us get caught in one or the other. I realized that I had plateaued. Again.
I opened a magazine called Fortune Small Business. In it there was an article about a guy who was a sculptor working at the Met. He got hit in the head by a falling piece of sculpture. After months of law suits and bed rest, he discovered a new career making furniture out of scraps. Coincidence? I think not!
“But I don’t want a new career!” I said to Ron. “I love what I do.” It’s true that in the former head banging periods in my life, the dynamic tension between stability and mobility had propelled me from ad executive to street mime, from street mime to touring artist, from performer to Feldenkrais teacher, from owning my business to moving to Asheville. When I spoke to my younger and wiser sister about how I was feeling, she said, with just a hint of sarcasm, “So, what are you going to do; move, or become a physicist?” Suddenly the world of possibilities is open before me again. The only things that aren’t possible are becoming a Rockette (too short) or a soldier (I have thing about uniforms.)
I was visiting my mother in Florida last week. She’s a Luddite who still gets the morning paper delivered to her door every morning. Next thing I knew, I was reading the Comics page. In the Dennis The Menace cartoon, Mr. Wilson, the curmudgeon old neighbor is sitting on the stoop quoting Zen. (Oh how far we have come!) He tells his wife, “Don’t just do something, sit there.” Coincidence? You tell me.
It occurs to me that I’m not unhappy because of anything that’s going on outside. It’s something that’s happening inside. It’s the chemistry of discomfort and I’ve named it: unhappy. And then I need a story to go with it. But why not just call it growing pains? And this time, instead of running toward something outside myself, I choose to go in. Like the travelers in Fantastic Voyage, I’m taking a journey within to listen to the chorus of neuropeptides and amino acids that are singing the song of change. Instead of attaching a story of dissatisfaction with a wonderful life to the discomfiture whirling through my nervous system, I’m staying put and listening. Who needs to burn bridges?

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How long have you been sitting there?

The other day, I was in my garden picking tomatoes when something arrested my foot, a glimmer of unaccustomed yellow in the mulch. Just beneath the sole of my foot sat a turtle, frozen, trying to appear invisible next to a fallen tomato with a tell tale bite. “Hmmm. How long have you been sitting there?” I asked him. He just sat there, staring at his tomato prize, so close, yet so far. As I bent down, He pulled his head back into his shell. I continued on my harvesting journey. He was still frozen when I left the garden. I marveled that I had avoided crushing him.

People are always showing up in my office in various degrees of “turtle freeze”. Head jutting forward, or squashed into the shoulders, which are held up to the ears. They can’t turn, their arms hurt, the jaw is often frozen or they have a humongous headache. My first question is usually, “How long have you been sitting at your computer?” The answer is always something like, “I know I should get up.” Or “I have a little alarm that goes off, but I just shut it off.” Or “The time goes by so fast.”

To avoid turtle freeze, take a short movement break. Here’s one of my favorites:

Sit forward on the edge of your chair. Slowly, like in a slow motion film, turn to look behind you to the right. Try that three or four times. As you turn, notice your breath. Notice what turns with you. Notice if anything hurts. If it does, can you give yourself permission to turn less? Pause a moment and close your eyes. Notice your shoulders, your feet. Now, place your left palm on your forehead, fingers pointing toward your scalp, in an “I could have had a V8!” position. Slowly turn to the right three or four times again. Keep it easy. Pause, put your hand down. Now without the help of your hand, turn to the right. How does that feel?

For more lessons to keep you sitting comfortably, visit www.laviniaplonka.com

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Getting Hip

I’ve had a series of people come to see me lately with varying degrees of hip pain. Some have been “diagnosed” with arthritis, others just feel aching and limitations. When I ask students to point to their hip joints, 90% point to the outside of the top of the leg, or to the iliac crest, the big bone at the top of the pelvis. Moshe Feldenkrais often said, “If you know what you’re doing, you can do what you want.” But how can you know your hip joint?

Lie down on the floor for a moment. Picture your femur (thigh bone). At the top, it bends in to your pelvis, like the letter L. And at the end of the short L, there’s a ball, called the femoral head. Now bend your knees and put your feet standing on the floor. Push gently into the floor with your feet as if you were trying to push your feet away from your torso. It will create a little rocking motion in your pelvis. Go quickly and lightly.

As you do this movement, can you imagine what your femoral head is doing? Can you picture it going up and down? Forward and back? Or is it the Bermuda Triangle of your awareness? After a few moments, stretch your legs out. Then stand up and see how your trunk rests on your legs.

If you don’t have time to lie down and try this, here’s something you can do during the day. Change your walk. Intentionally, move your hips in a different way. Monty Python had a bit called “The Ministry of Silly Walks.” Take a moment to invent a silly walk of your own. By interrupting your habitual way of walking, you offer new directions for your hip joint, and can help relieve inflammation and discomfort. (Just don’t do it in front of your boss.)

For some audio lessons visit http://www.laviniaplonka.com

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What Are Your Dreams?

A New Approach for Realizing Your Goals

For several years, I’ve been privileged to work with people who have sought me out for suggestions and support in their personal development. Business people, Feldenkrais teachers, writers and others have benefited from a one on one process that has helped them move toward realizing personal and professional dreams. I have blended my years of movement, personal study and writing/marketing experience into a process that can be tailored to each individual’s goals, whether it’s completion of a specific project or an entirely new life direction.

Few things give me more pleasure than participating in the process of self discovery. I’d like to take a leap and open this up to those of you on a search. Together we can find new ways to:
Identify self sabotaging habits and learn more effective ways to move through life.

  • Overcome personal and professional obstacles
  • Clarify your message in your writing and your marketing materials
  • Develop more effective body language
  • Improve communication skills

I use a combination of phone, video and email: whatever is most useful for the individual’s needs.

$75/Hour, email for appointment and payment details.

What people are saying about working with Lavinia

“When I read the first pages of Walking Your Talk, there was right in the beginning a page with questions I might ask myself. I though.’Could Lavinia read my mind?’ This is the coach I was looking for. Lavinia often acted as an eye-opener: to see that elusive obvious in my situation, my habits, my goals and next steps.. I see how my practice has unfolded since then: I set up my website, started teaching Feldenkrais to the Tango community, worked successfully on interweaving Tango and Feldenkrais, reduced my voluntary work to bring more energy to my own projects and have a growing number of clients. Lavinia focused from the beginning on identifying my passion. The most important learning for me probably was to not only go for my passion but truly learn to embody it, so I can communicate it from the depth of my heart in an non-obtrusive way. I can highly recommend working with her.
Dirk Steinkamp, GCFP, Germany

“Lavinia was very helpful in understanding and navigating challenges any beginning practitioner is facing in building a private practice. Being a writer and a Feldenkrais practitioner, Lavinia knew exactly what I wanted to express and helped me clarify my own process of writing. After working with Lavinia I felt empowered, insightful, confident and supported.”
Julia Pak, GCFP, New York

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Effortless Effort

Josie is poised, unmoving, as she focuses her gaze. Her intention is clear. She moves through the grass like a slow motion film, periodically freezing, one paw in the air. Then in a blur of fur, she runs, leaps and the unfortunate vole that I couldn’t even see is history. Cats don’t struggle with self- esteem issues, they don’t get stressed about their childhoods as they pursue their dreams. Every move is economical, efficient and precise. If they fail, they walk away, lick themselves for a couple of moments and then take a nap. No criticism, no excuses.

One of the joys and challenges of being human is that every experience is recorded in the body: movement patterns, posture and tensions become both allies and obstacles as we reach for our goals in life. Sometimes it’s as hard to recognize what Moshe Feldenkrais called parasitic habits, those interfering patterns we develop over our lifetimes, as it is to see the back of our heads.
Every once in a while we observe special people: a super athlete, a confident business person, a loving teacher, who seem to embody grace in their movement and a clarity in how they realize their intentions. They will often tell you they are just “going with the flow.” Feldenkrais suggested that there should always be three ways to look at any obstacle or challenge. Michael Jordan once said, “Obstacles don’t have to stop you. If you run into a wall, don’t turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.” Three choices! Awareness Through Movement

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