Week 2: Day 9 – Personal
“Forget all that. It belongs to the past. As soon as you get a good experience, instead of using it, you say ‘Oh but I usually do this and this and this’ and the new experience just washes away.” Marjorie Barstow, Marion Miller journal, p.6
In the Wednesday Tai Chi class I attend, I often find myself practising how to move and place my feet. A few years ago I would have been a bit scornful about this choreography and the idea of correct foot placement. I want to be free and let my feet go where they want. And yet I also long to learn something with my brain and body and being. So after a gap of twenty five years, certainly before my Alexander training, I have returned to Tai Chi.
Over the last year I have learned to respect this ancient way of moving. I appreciate the way our teachers come and polish the movements with us. They refine our understanding of where our fingertips should be, how the weight travels, why the steps are as they precribe. These details give a stable, predictable base for balancing, reaching and returning. These methods have been passed down for centuries. My teacher David Barrow has been teaching for fifty years, day in and day out, Rachel Barrow for 40. I feel fortunate to learn with them.
Mostly I am enjoying the process of learning. Occasionally I wonder if I will ever get there, ever remember the whole form, ever be good enough. Sometimes an ambitious part of me tries to speed up my learning. I want to be moved up to the next part of the room where the long‑timers are, flowing through the whole form. And then I laugh at myself. I realise I am happy because I am learning, not because I am getting somewhere. I do not need a certificate or a different corner of the room. I want and love the learning itself. Learning about myself, about movement, about coordination. The sheer pleasure of moving.
I’m aware that some people like to stand behind me so they can watch me, they’ve told me so. This feels good to know. Without being big‑headed, I know that I move well. There is a certain fluidity, accuracy and all-togetherness I have. I can know the truth of this without my ego getting inflated. I feel a good size and in a good place in this group.
Most of the class are older and retired, and there is a kinship in that. I choose my own hours and feel semi-retired, in that I have some freedom already. I haven’t worked for anyone else for well over 23 years.
I can sit comfortably on my own, talk to this person or that, I remember more names and forms each week, and can sit in different parts of the circle when we arrive, confident I will find someone to connect with. I do not have to talk. I usually take my cue from the other person and enjoy many different conversations.
As a teenager I often felt uncomfortable in my height, my weight, my development, my poor eyesight. An omnipresent sense of not‑quite‑good‑enough. Nowadays I wear comfy barefoot shoes, trousers that swing above my ankles, wrist warmers, bright colours or all black. Most weeks someone comments on my shoes or clothes and how much they like what I’m wearing. I smile and am pleased they enjoy the way I look. I do not dress for them, but I can take pleasure in their pleasure.
Generally I am more than content in my life. Certainly more peaceful in my body and more comfortable in my own skin in a variety of settings. This is a long way from my awkward teenage self. I am glad I can look after myself, stretch into new experiences and rely on myself and my judgement in many circumstances. I am glad to be alive, and glad to be me.
And this is the biggest impact of Alexander’s work in my personal life. I can feel myself as I am now, not as the girl who wanted to hide, not as the young woman who thought she should be perfect, not as the person who used to rush past the good experience. I can stay with the feelings of being in my embodied experience, with choice and delight, and this love of learning has become part of me.
Each time I pause and choose me, I feel a little more of myself arriving.
warm wishes
Lucy