- Yoga. I don’t slow down easily. Yoga pushes me into an intentional dance with my body. I become my own partner, listening and responding to nonverbal cues that I never heard. There’s a call and response between the soul and the body. I’ve started to learn their languages and better honor these parts of my Self.
- Sex. Mind, body, and soul engaged and released in connection with another mind, body, and soul. Moving and responding on levels beyond thought. Acting out love for oneself and another, simultaneously. I lose myself much as I did at the days-long rave or in the mosh pits I shouldn’t have survived, but also as I do in meditation or yoga. I can give my mind a break and act in body and soul. In concert with a lover, moving to all the beats of our hearts.
- Parenthood. Children read your moves like dancers. They emulate, follow, push against, swirl, and take the lead. Little of it is graceful, but they dance. It’s often more like jiu-jitsu or boxing than a tango, but they are working with a partner. The dance never stops, but the tune is always new. Sometimes a song will cut off in the middle of the chorus, you’re finishing a well-rehearsed verse and your partner has found an entirely new genre. I’m not very good at that transition. I want to finish the song we started, but my child may not even remember how it went. It’s the hardest and most frustrating 11-year dance of my life; therefore, the most rewarding. Sometimes I nail it. Seamlessly from watching a documentary on the couch to a wresting match to a ball of tears in my arms, sometimes I let go of myself and follow the dance where it needs to go. Often, I step on toes, fall on my ass, and blame my inexperienced partner for my missteps. I try to forgive myself for those moments, but I find that to be the hardest part of loving myself. You can’t try to dance, you’re either dancing or you’re not. I try so hard to be a good parent. The harder I try, the more clunky and self-conscious the dance becomes. It’s a greater challenge after two months of imposed isolation as a single parent. I’m taking a necessary break from that dance this weekend. I am blessed and grateful for the opportunity. I believe my sons are as well. They will reconnect with family and I’ll get to rest (literally) weary legs and (literally) sore feet.
- “Trouble In Your Mind,” The Carolina Chocolate Drops. I’ve been singing this line to my boys for years, “Don’t get trouble in your mind.” A total joke as Zerbeys are always cooking up trouble. One day as a toddler, Westen took to charging around the living room, yelling this lyric over and over, head butting every cushion and pillow in the room with insane joy. Up there with potty training with a magazine in his grip, this proved that this was my son.
- Wrassling. My boys are boys, through and through. Put on some loud music and start swinging them around the room and they are in instant bliss. Jiu-jitsu isn’t allowed during our play fighting, it’s a lot more WWF than art. We invent moves, naming them as we execute. We size each other up, they get stronger every darn time, and we push each other to physical limits in the most fun and loving ways possible.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason