My physical therapist has asked me a few times about what exactly I do when I dance.  She’s trying to figure out the body mechanics that enable me to suddenly have little or no pain and be able to move in ways that I could not do just minutes prior to dancing. 

The thing is, my dance is not about body mechanics.  It’s about something that transcends the physical plane.  It’s an alchemy between music, spirit, and body.  It’s a vibrational interaction.  It’s a transference of energy between the musicians, instruments, and me.  And it is different every day.

Take yesterday: I was casually dancing around my living room, moving slowly. Then I put on 80s industrial music.  Bam!  I was leaping in the air and bouncing around on my feet.  While I did remain mindful of my ankle, it was a brain thing — a precaution.  My body had seemingly forgotten the ankle pain existed. 

While I do think it’s important to take precaution, for the most part I flow with the transition to a no-pain zone.  My intuition says that if I am overly-precautious (the fine line being determined by listening to my body with my entire being attuned), the clash between my body and mind can result in exacerbation of pain and injury.

I’m reminded of the book Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton.  In one scene, Ethan and his girlfriend get on a sled, preparing to commit suicide by pushing the sled down a steep, icy incline that, as I remember it, ends in a wall.  Getting onto the sled, Ethan is well-aware that if he hesitates even a nanosecond, the necessary momentum will be lost, and he and his girlfriend will end up severely crippled instead of dead — which ends up happening.

I read the book in high school, and I still remember that scene vividly. Though I may not have been able to articulate it at the time, I was captivated by the underlying alchemy of commitment, trust, faith, intention, energy, flow, and permission all working together in one harmonious burst.

At any rate, what’s interesting is that I can never predict the alchemy of my dance.  Yesterday, the industrial music did it for me.  Today, it was global hip-hop music. Like a shot in the dark, an explosion out of nowhere, the music immediately and magically transports my body to an entirely different state, so that I cannot not move vivaciously. And yet, some days, no matter what music I play, my body moves slowly and gently the entire time — whether on my feet, in a chair, or rolling around on the floor.

What’s also interesting is that I can be leaping around while music is playing, but barely be able to walk when it’s off.  What I’m curious about is whether consistency of my dancing routine will amp up my general physical comfort and state of being over time. While I may not notice a marked difference in pain levels during the hours I’m not dancing on one particular day, I anticipate that my pain levels will more rapidly decrease overall in my life – over a period of days, weeks, months, or years – as I engage regularly in the healing alchemy of dance.

I’ve been making a concerted effort to commit to my dancing now, first thing every day.  I’ll report back from the field as I move forward.

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Every day requires making a decision to move toward light and healing. 

Prior to the events that led to the development of chronic pain and hypersensitivity in my body, I characteristically would wake up with a bounding spirit, bouncing out of bed and jumping vivaciously into my day.

Nowadays I generally wake up tired, in pain, stiff, and somewhat or very depressed.  I have to remind myself every morning that I have the skills and tools to pull myself out of the funk and discomfort and have a radically different experience during the course of the day.

This morning, for example, I woke up frustrated that I could not wake up early enough or move quickly enough to get to synagogue.  It feels important to me to start going to services again, after having stopped for many years, for various reasons. 

Instead of sinking into despair about how challenging it is for me to do something so simple, I offered myself compassion and understanding, and I gave myself permission to move slowly and take care of my body today. I assured myself that if I continue setting my mind to attending services, it will happen eventually, even if it takes months to rework my sleeping and waking patterns on the weekend (being that I need about two hours to get going in my day).

I also reminded myself that yesterday, despite my ankle pain, I was safely bouncing around my living room, dancing to music. The music, I assured myself, similarly can transport me again today and leave me feeling terrific. I just have to do my morning routine.

What’s more, while this ankle pain and jacked-up levels of pain on the right side of my head are making it challenging, if not impossible, for me to be in groups at the moment (like the drumming circle I really want to attend this afternoon); and while I desperately feel the need to be out in the world — making friends and building community, I also assured myself that there may be physically safe, low-key social options for me to discover. 

Even if I can’t be around people at all today; even if it takes me months to get back to where I was before the whole ankle incident happened; and even if I’m lonely in the meantime, I will focus on what I can do — filling up that space with love, light, and healing.  It is a decision.

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Here are some of my thoughts on holistic healing and its connection to natural pain relief:

Every element of our life factors into our ability to heal.
These elements include but are not limited to the following:

1. comfort and support of the shoes we wear
2. nutritional value of the food we eat
3. energy of the people we spend time with
4. sense of self-worth we feel
5. quality of touch from our body workers
6. noise level in our neighborhood
7. number of chronic pain conditions we have and the ways they interact with each other
8. extent of our belonging in and support by community
9. way we feel about our work

The more that every element of our life is healthy and in harmony, the more we are fed wellness from every direction, into every pore and fiber of our being.

Just because emotional healing helps advance our physical well-being does not mean that our physical pain was caused by an emotional state.

People seem to love platitudes, which keep things seeming tidy and self-contained.  But life is messy and involved, spilling over the sides of the lines we draw. 

Pain may have been caused by a purely physical factor, and the pain may be purely physical as well.  The more spiritual and emotional strength we have, however; the more healthy love and support we have from other people; the more we overall enjoy our lives, the more ammo we have for turning that physical pain around.

We need the support of those around us.
When our physical, emotional, financial, and spiritual resources are depleted, we need an infusion of other people’s energy, so that we can keep on keeping on:

1. someone calling to check in on us
2. someone advocating for us
3. someone offering nurturing touch
4. someone validating our experience
5. someone lending us money
6. someone laughing at our joke
7. someone doing their own healing alongside ours

Love and integrity heal.
When healthcare practitioners genuinely care about our condition and do what they can to help us; when those practitioners who have hurt us take accountability for their actions; when our families and friends make us feel safe and nourished…our internal resources operate at peak efficiency for healing. 

To the contrary, when healthcare practitioners use their power to get in our way of healing; when those practitioners deny the impact of their negligent behavior; and when friends and family infuse our lives with chaos and distress, our resources are depleted by feelings of powerlessness, betrayal, confusion, fear, depression, and so on, making it that much more difficult to heal.

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This post is a continuation of In Search of Good Friendship and Shoes.

The trip to the mall turned out to be somewhat akin to a slapstick comedy. For starters, the directions that Grace gave me from MapQuest said to turn right off the exit ramp onto H Avenue, then make a U-turn at C Street, to go back in the opposite direction on H Avenue for 1/10 of a mile, at which point I would see Macy’s.

“Why don’t the directions just have me turn left at the exit?”  I wondered aloud to Grace.  Together, we decided it must be impossible to turn left off the exit ramp. Regardless, I had the impression, and it seemed Grace did too, that the mall was right off of the freeway.

So when I exited the freeway ramp and did not see C Street right away, I figured that MapQuest was having me drive unnecessarily far. I made a U-turn at the first possible opportunity and drove east on H Avenue, looking for the mall on my right.  After I had driven one mile, I realized that the mall must not have been as close to the freeway as I had thought.

So I made another U-turn and drove west on Mall Avenue, looking for C Street.  A few miles later, I still had not seen C Street, but I did see Macy’s in the big mall – on my right, not on the opposite side of the street, where it was supposed to be. I figured that, despite my vouching for the accuracy of MapQuest, it must have been mistaken this time.

I contemplated parking my car in a handicapped space, being that my ankle was not feeling 100%. I don’t like to park in handicapped spaces unless I am absolutely in need, however, so I parked in the first space I found, about a 3-5 minute walk from the store, and headed inside.

I called Grace on my way up to the second floor bathroom.  She said she would meet me there.  I waited around for a while then phoned her.  She said she’d been looking for me and calling my name, and that she had since gone over the designer shoe department.  I told her I would meet her there.

As I headed down to the shoe department, my ankle started to really hurt, and I regretted not having an ankle brace on me. I figured I could ask Grace to help out by picking one up from a drugstore that was sure to be in the mall.

When I got to the shoe department, there was no sign of Grace.  There were, however, many “comfort fashion” shoes, although not the brand I was looking for.  So Grace and I figured that we were in the two different Macy’s in the same mall.  But when she went to the other shoe department and did not see me, we asked sales clerks about the name of our respective malls and realized that we were in two different locations.

As we tried to figure out who would go where, Grace informed me that her cell phone battery was about to die. Because of my ankle pain (but without telling her the reason), I asked Grace if she would come to my mall. She said that her car was parked in the wrong place, apparently far away from where she was. I didn’t anticipate it would be a big stress on my ankle to go to her, as the sales clerk made it seem nearby and easy. So I went.

There was a lot of traffic on the street, and being that I have a manual car, the clutch action really did in my ankle. Meanwhile, H Avenue turned out to chock full of strip malls for several miles, so I had to scour the signs regularly, to see if Macy’s was in each particular mall. I finally reached the one I was looking for. By the time I parked (in the handicapped space this time), I had to limp in pain to get into Macy’s.

I asked the sales clerk whether their shoe department upstairs had designer shoes or lower-end shoes, to gauge which location I was in. She kept telling me that the shoe department on the second floor was the only shoe department. “There are two Macy’s in this mall, right?”  I asked.  “Yes,” she said.  “Does your shoe department have designer shoes?”  “Yes,” she said. “Okay I’m in the wrong place.”

I explained the situation to the sales clerk — including the parts about how Grace’s phone was dead, how my own phone was about to die, and how my ankle was killing me, so I couldn’t go running around anymore.  I asked the sales clerk if she could call the shoe department at the other mall and ask them to page Grace. 

There was a bit of drama around the phone call, as the sales clerk did not have the number, but she was very accommodating and got the information. After being on hold for a while, the sales clerk informed me that they would not page Grace, because they only page in instances of lost children. 

I asked to speak with the representative on the phone and explained the situation again.  “Since you can’t page my friend, can you call her name and see if she responds ?” “No,” the representative said. “Can you at least look around your department and see if there is a petite, redheaded, white woman there?”  The representative looked around but did not see Grace.  At that point, it had been well over half an hour since I had left the other mall; and I did not know where Grace might be.

I used the last juice on my cell phone to text Grace and leave a message on her voicemail, in case she turned on the phone for a minute or used another phone to check her voicemail.  I then drove all around, trying to find the other Macy’s, which ended up involving crossing a busy street that ran through the middle of the mall.  (Who designed this place?)

Finally, I found the second Macy’s.  Even parking in a handicapped space, however, I knew I would not make it.  Macy’s was on the second floor, back away from the parking lot. Initially I contemplated trying to push myself, but the pain in my ankle was too intense.  I just couldn’t do it.

So I drove back to a restaurant I had seen, thinking that I could use their phone to call and leave Grace another message that I would wait for her there.  At the restaurant, however, all the handicapped spaces were taken; and the other spaces were just too far away for me to make it. 

It been almost two hours since I had arrived in the area; my ankle was shot; and I was exhausted and frustrated.  So I accepted that I had done everything I could and began making my way home.

On the way back to the freeway, I saw a Verizon dealer and stopped to get a car charger for my phone.  After I gave it a few minutes to juice, I called to leave a message on Grace’s voicemail, just to let her know that I was leaving.  Miraculously, she picked up. I was excited and immediately moved into the left lane, to make a U-turn and go back to the mall.

While waiting for the light to turn green, I told Grace about the situation with my ankle and said that while I could not go shopping with her, we could meet up at a restaurant in the mall and have dinner (being that it was already 6:00 p.m.) I figured that she could shop after dinner, being that Macy’s was open until 11:00 p.m.

I said that I was in the left turn lane, making a U-turn to come and meet her. Grace responded that she had “stuff to do” – ie, that she wanted to buy things. “Can we reschedule?” she asked.

You are fucking kidding me.

Although my feelings were hurt, I expressed that I wanted to at least hang out a little bit, considering the effort we had made to get together.  “I waited in the shoe department for an hour,” Grace whined in response. (Oh, how I would have loved to be the one waiting in the shoe department!) ”It’s not like I was hanging out somewhere,” I said. “I was running around trying to find you, even with my ankle killing me.”  “Well you’re the one who went to the wrong mall,” she said in a blaming tone.

Again: You are fucking kidding me.

“Forget it,” I said.  “I’m going home.” With that, I hung up and tried to get back into the stream of traffic heading toward the freeway.  Nobody would let me in for a while, and I ended up stuck in the middle of the intersection, with cars whizzing past me in either direction. Then I was not only upset but also scared. To top matters off, I got onto the freeway, only to find that it was jam-packed — meaning lots of fun clutch action for my ankle.

Fortunately, I managed to get all the way back home with very little use of the clutch.  I was also grateful that it was still daylight, so I did not have to deal with the eye pain I get from headlights.

As I hobbled up the three flights of stairs to my apartment, I felt exhausted on every level, hurt and angry about what had happened, depressed about how this botched attempt at connecting just made me feel more isolated, and anxious about how long this round of ankle pain would last and how bad it would be. Could I do my laundry ?  Shop for food? could I even get around my apartment, being that the pain was so intense?

On top of this anxiety was the disappointment that over the next few days, Grace did not try to talk or just see if my ankle was doing OK. I emailed her today and let her know how the whole incident let me feel.

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Last Fall, I contacted a woman in the media whose work really moved me. Let’s call her Grace. As it turned out, Grace not only knew who I was but was a fan of my work, citing a book of mine as being one of her favorite.

We hit it off from our first conversation and ended up becoming each other’s “new best friend,” but only via telephone.  Though we lived just an hour away by car, we both had disabilities that made it difficult for us to connect in person – mine related to chronic pain and hers related to post-traumatic stress disorder.

Over the coming months, we had many long, dynamic, and mutually supportive conversations (replete with colorful plots to take down the patriarchy once and for all), without ever having met each other.  It was all very 21st-century.

This morning, I was sharing with Grace my frustration and hurt around the confusing behavior of someone I’ve been trying to get to know. That conversation led to a larger one about how difficult it is to create and sustain authentic, healthy, and balanced relationships — given all of the crazy human drama in this world and the ways that one person’s damage rubs up against that of another.

Grace and I only half-jokingly talked about starting a group called, “How the Fuck Do You Do Relationships.”  In literary terms, the moment was what one would call portentous.

Shortly after, we talked about the Macy’s one-day sale going on today, and I shared that I was considering going to shop at a nearby store – purportedly the swankiest and best-stocked in the local region. Grace shared her eagerness to come along, which led us to brainstorm how we could meet up halfway between our towns while still going to a somewhat decent branch.

I was lounging around in bed at the time, but Grace was near the computer.  So she jumped on the internet and found a Macy’s exactly midway between us.

Having grown up in the area, Grace was familiar with that location.  Although she had not found anything she liked there in the past, and while she expressed her disdain for Macy’s and department stores in general, she said it was a huge store; and she was excited to go with me. I presumed it was for the same reason I was willing to drive 20 miles on the freeway, which I never, ever do — namely, to have have the opportunity to finally meet in person, as well as to have the kind of fun that one only can have while shopping with a gal pal.

I was on a mission to buy “comfort fashion” shoes – specifically the Gentle Sole brand (they are awesome – go forth and buy), because I am making a concerted effort to get out of my chronic-pain-friendly yet fairly shlumpy clothes and sneakers. This agenda means I need to search high and low for comfortable, stylin’ alternatives that really work. (A whole lot more about “fashion pain,” as it were, in another post.)

Since the targeted Macy’s was located in a huge mall, Grace informed me, it would be best to meet up in the shoe department of the store. But there was a catch: Not only were there two different Macy’s within the same mall, but each had its own shoe department — one with designer shoes and one with lower-end shoes. The “comfort fashion” brands, we guessed, would be in the designer shoe section. So we agreed to find each other in whichever Macy’s store had that particular department.

Next was the matter of figuring out how to get there. After telling me that she hates YahooMaps.com — because in her experience, it is always wrong — Grace jumped onto MapQuest.com at my behest (“It’s always been accurate for me,” I said) and gave me directions. I told her I would need about an hour to get myself ready, so that I would have time to dance. She told me she would go ahead to the store and meet me there.

While taking a shower, I considered that maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to go, because my shoulder was in quite a bit of pain. My ankle also was somewhat out of sorts but seemed to be holding up; so while the ankle issue crossed my mind, I didn’t think much of it. (Another portentous moment.) Regardless of my pain levels, my chronic pain isolation has been a big heartbreaking deal to me recently, so I’ve been making a point of putting myself out there in the world and developing/strengthening local friendships, even when it’s challenging.

I knew I would just deal with whatever pain I had, and I recalled what a friend with chronic pain once said to me – something to the effect of, “We have to balance that are conflicting needs. Sometimes we have to just bite the bullet and go out and do our thing and deal with the physical or energetic consequences after.”

So after dancing away as much pain as possible within half an hour and icing my shoulder and ankle for another 10 minutes, I put on my sneakers (in anticipation of walking the malls) and took off.

Story continues with Botched Attempt at Connecting.

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