Lost you in the border town of anywhere
I found myself when I was going everywhere.

Listen to Back in my Body here. 

I realized the other day that I haven't been to a dance class in almost two years. I've danced, sure. I've even taken part in a number of online classes. But this morning as music filled my senses and I found myself moving my hips to the beat, I recognized the absence of clarity I used to feel when I made it a habit to consistently let everything go except for how my body reacts to music. 

When this was the norm, I finally understood what it meant to be in my body. 

Even then, I hesitated with certain moves. I doubted my own ability to let myself go and be in the moment. I knew, intuitively, how to do the moves and what it would look like and feel like to allow my body the fluidity, but narratives kept whispering in my veins, ones about the breadth of one's body limiting the ability to truly move. 

Until I started taking lyrical classes. 

I'd seen the video with Galen Hooks' choreography where the dancers poured every ounce of their soul into Bishop Briggs' song River. I was in awe and felt the tickle in my chest — my intuition prodding me to try it. 

I need this, my body whispered.

A few months later, I saw River on the list for lyrical dance and signed up with no hesitation, and the class proved my theory that emotion and story can be built into dance. 

I also realized that the more I embody myself, the more I allow the movement of energy to run through and release the stagnant pieces, the more creative I am in writing. 

Creativity begets creativity — every time. 
It also helps me heal.

"It's my job to go out and see the world and report back — to feel things fiercely... 
And it's my job to be present." 

- Maggie Rogers, Back in My Body documentary 

One summer I was on my way home from work and Back in my Body came on my playlist. I felt the tears come immediately. I was heartbroken, but hadn't really allowed myself to fully feel the extent of what this meant for me and where I needed to go next. This song, already instrumental in reminding me the importance of embodiment and being true to what I'm feeling in the moment, brought me back to my body in a way that was immediate and with an intensity I hadn't felt in a while. I cried the entire way home, and then snapped a picture so I could remember. I realized I hadn't been present to my own grief, I simply moved it away - pushed it aside for later. Knowing full well later wouldn't ever really come. I wouldn't ever welcome the reckoning. 

I never do.
But it always returns.