“All the physical movement is to give her a change so she can own the responsibility for what she wants.”
How does changing how you move affect the rest of your life? Movement is movement and the rest of your life is the rest of your life. Nothing more to see here, right?
Part of me wants to go epic and deep, to talk about the nature of matter, of our existence as movement – the vibration and movement of atoms, the space between parts of molecules, the matter of our cells. As fascinating as the nature of matter is, it failed my Mom test – the practical, simple explanation I would use to tell my Mom about this. (Thanks to Rob Fitzpatrick for the concept from his book, The Mom Test).
“All the physical movement is to give her a change so she can own the responsibility for what she wants.”
This statement came from a teacher and mentor of mine, Candy Conino, in the discussion of a client case – some of my peers and I gather once a week to discuss questions from our practice which gives us a rich learning environment to build our professional competence and confidence.
In the search for a practical, simple explanation of the what this means – “All the physical movement is to give her a change so she can own the responsibility for what she wants” – it comes down to this.
We can lose ourselves in our unconscious habits. We need our habits – try brushing your teeth with your non-dominant hand – to know how much attention this basic hygiene task takes without your habitual movement. But habits can become a trap.
One way that our unconscious habits can become mal-adaptive behaviors is when something important in our environment shifts. A partner becomes seriously ill or dies. You have a serious accident or life event that changes how you get through each day. We can do what we have always done and it doesn’t quite work anymore. Or we can change but what we do now doesn’t feel quite right and we create a story that explains what is missing now that our partner is gone or our ability to run or walk is altered. We create our story of coping. And we cope. That’s how we survive past the hard parts of life.
One kind of coping is to dive hard into an unconscious habit that feels like a save.
Let’s imagine Lidia’s journey – when Lidia’s partner dies, after an initial grieving period, one possible move is for Lidia to dive into activity – all of the classes, experiences, trips – everything that might have been on hold due to her partner’s poor health or just her unexpressed dreams for what she wanted but didn’t do. And in that flurry of activity, Lidia sustains an injury, some physical way of breaking down.
She did too much, we say, her body wasn’t able to keep up with all this intense activity. But more than volume, frequency or intensity of activity, we can also take the measure of the compulsive nature of what Lidia dives into – a way of coping that leads her away from herself.
What somatic coaching can help Lidia do is to bring her movement and her movement habits into conscious awareness so she can choose both how she moves and who she is in this new environment. Unconscious coping creates a compelling and frustrating experience – while doing it you can lose yourself in the coping activity and at some point, Lidia comes back to herself. And faces the frustration, the longing, the grief, the fear of what she is adapting to. And the limits of how she is coping. Time to dive back in.
Somatic coaching can help Lidia listen to herself, her body and how she is functioning in her environment now and know herself – not through a story of who she was or is now, or the way she is coping to save herself, but in a concrete way right now.
The practical, simple explanation I would tell my Mom is by helping Lidia become conscious of how she moves, she can choose what to do now because she can feel herself as she moves now. And her conscious choice is how she creates the person she can be, with each move, in every day.
Interested in learning more? Book a free 15 minute call with Cheryl. No sales pressure, just a caring conversation about what you are looking for and what I can offer. https://www.kindpower.ca/book/
Ready to start? Book a 45 minute somatic assessment session. Then based on what we discover together, I will make a recommendation for what can support you. https://www.kindpower.ca/book/
What do coaches do? Help you to perform better, to move better – in soccer, baseball, in leadership, as entrepreneurs – to help you improve how you perform whatever field you play on.
Isn’t somatic coaching basically the same thing? It can be. To respond to how it is different, I need to take you on a little journey. It starts simply. With nouns and verbs.
What nouns do you know yourself to be? Son or daughter. Wife, husband, mother, father. Department manager, business owner. Collector. Cyclist. Citizen. Neighbor. What is the rate of change in the nouns you know apply to you? Do they change daily? Monthly?
Are you more or less a wife or a neighbor between January and March? Maybe you are a cyclist between April and November but not December to March. We rely on nouns as the foundation for our stories about who we are, the building blocks of our identity.
To be or not to be….what verb am I?
What verbs do you know yourself to be? Notice if this question doesn’t make sense. As a teacher, I do several verbs regularly. Explain. Ask. Listen. Question. Search. Demonstrate. Gesture. We tend not to associate as easily with the verbs we do. I am a teacher and a coach. I tend not to say, I question, listen, lead, allow struggle, support learning, offer feedback.
How does this relate to somatic coaching and improving performance? Where do you think improvement happens – in the nouns or in the verbs?
Karlene’s verb is burst
Let’s work through this question with an individual. Let’s call her Karlene. Karlene is several nouns, a leader, a mother, a change-maker. And one of the verbs that Karlene does is bursting through – traditions that no longer serve, outdated policies, inequities. She is able to both have people feel she cares about them and she can burst their balloon, so that the changes that are called to happen have the space to happen. Her body is organized around bursting barriers. So parts of her are in pain – one shoulder, side of neck, hip – the side of her most often applied to bursting barriers.
So as a somatic coach, I could just work with her physical pain and that would help. I could just work with her biomechanical movement and help her to move better so she can function better. But without changing her verbs, in this case, the way she is organize to burst in, to burst through, any new change will fall under the weight of this verb, this bursting way of being.
As a somatic coach, I help people like Karlene discover their personal verbs, the way they do what they do, to feel it in their tissues. And create a way of moving that makes it more likely they will stop verbing towards pain and start verbing towards more wellness. Towards more wholeness. To simply being successfully them – complete. Capable. Less striving to be and more being.
Somatic Coaching is what and how you move as you
So simply put, somatic coaching is concerned with both what you move and how you move. And supporting you to decode your own mysterious black box of “Me” so you can become functional in your body as you. Less about the nouns. More about the verbs.
Interested in learning more? You can:
Sign up for a free 15-minute call to talk about your human condition. No sales pressure, just a caring conversation about what you are looking for and what I can offer. Book now https://www.kindpower.ca/book/
If you are ready to start, we begin with a 45-minute assessment (in person or online). Then based on what we discover together, I make a recommendation for what can support you. https://www.kindpower.ca/book/
While individual somatic coaching programs vary – this is not a one and done change effort. Depending on what a client wants and needs, I tend to recommend 6-10 sessions so we can do more than just identify a personal pattern; we can anchor securely the changes that support my clients to hold their goal with their own hands and know they can achieve it. If you are already working for your success – it can be good to have someone to give you a hand up.
I connected with a colleague over a pretty mundane issue – did I send her the report? Did she receive it? I went to the place of assuming I had thought about sending it but didn’t actually do it. This happens. It happens more right now as I live with my shifting hormonal, menopausal self.
I have developed within myself a sense of competence in certain areas of my life. In this mid-stage of life, that sense of competence is tinged with a few dollops of chaos, a kind of disorderly reality – the strategies I have used to stay organized, that help me feel on top of everything are no longer working in the way they used to.
In my email conversation with my colleague, this truth popped out of somewhere – I am coming to know this inner stranger, the part of me that can be in tears one moment, touched deeply by a story and sometimes adrift in feeling, my long years of honing my attention, focus on a task somehow coming undone. In the way that what I thought I did (send the report) and what I did (leave it in my draft folder) are increasingly not the same; what I think about myself and how I show up are not the same. Part of me is paying attention to something else.
Of course, there are gaps in who I say I am and who I actually am – this is the work of life to know ourselves past the stories we tell about ourselves. It’s the surprise that is unsettling – the surprise of how I show up, after 5 decades of getting to know myself well.
At the risk of jumping too deeply into the existential end of the pool, how do I define myself?
In the respect of competence in my work, in this area of consulting, I have an earned confidence in my competence – I trust in it. I know my strengths, understand my weaknesses, how to live from a place of self-acceptance that my 25-year-old self craved.
It is easy to blame the hormonal changes as the villain, seeing other changes happen in my body and just hope this villain will eventually just go away. We want what brings us certainty in this most basic part of ourselves – our identity.
I am being me. And that is changing – the current impact of my aging process. And there are moments, nearly every week, when I don’t really know who I am right now. Breaking apart of my sense of self.
I am being and I am becoming.
This is where certainty doesn’t serve the way it used to. I used to use certainty as a way to keep the chaos of the world at bay. Now the ground that my earned competence allows for is to see more clearly that chaos is truly part of my world, part of myself.
This week’s quote from Dennis Leri, a Feldenkrais elder, enfolded my experience of my inner stranger.
What is could be different. What is different could be me.
If our identity is a story, what if in addition to a personal memoir of all the ways I’ve been before, my identity is also a mystery, a personal “who-did-that?” thriller? Except no crime has been committed. Just being – living into my next chapter.
I realize that I have almost always picked work that requires me to learn on the job. Coming from a family with a high number of teachers, grandmother, cousins, aunt, I grew up in an environment where the value of learning was infused in the air. Growing up in my farming family, my earliest school room was the freedom to play outside as long as I was home for dinner.
It is no surprise to me that one of the people who influences my learning now is David Abram, an ecologist, philosopher and an accomplished slight of hand magician. What I most want to share from his first book, The Spell of the Sensuous, is his ideas about word magic and how our language affects how we participate in what we sense.
My early outdoor expeditions in the shelter belt of farms in southern Alberta (the double row of trees surrounding the house and outbuildings) were wordless ones, shared with a black Labrador dog, sometimes a sister. The smell of sticky poplar leaves on a warm spring afternoon, attaching anywhere I pressed close enough. The sound and vibration of weighted wheat stalks tossing above my head to the persistent southwest wind, framing the autumnal blue sky. These words may evoke the memory of what I sensed but it is not the same as the sense memory awakened when I smell poplar trees again or pause to listen to the swaying of a soon-to-be harvested wheat field.
The word magic he writes about is a simple sleight of tongue that hides what is right there in front of us. When we speak about touching the cat, about smelling the paperwhite blooms, about listening to the wind in the branches above the path – there is a word magic in “the”. That small word renders for us a notion that the being we sense is an object. Abram says, “To define another being as an inert or passive object is to deny its ability to actively engage us and to provoke our senses; we block our perceptual reciprocity with that being.”
Why does this matter? It is grammatically accurate – a cat is a noun; the tree is a noun. More word magic. This construct shines a light on us as the sensing being and everything else as the thing being sensed. It closes down what feels like real magic, that anything we touch, touches us back. That anything we inhale, also shares the air. That anything we hear, also feels our vibration as we walk by. Abram says, “perception always remains vulnerable to the decisive influence of language.”
Word magic can magnify suffering.
In working with clients, I notice the impact of this word magic on their lives, as part of suffering that comes with pain. Because one of the habits so many of us have learned, is to apply that objectifying language to ourselves. The leg. The neck. If one of the superpowers of the Feldenkrais Method is making finer and finer distinctions as part of learning, this tiny distinction is a root of self-domination, the place where I try to control my leg to do what I want. Without listening to my leg as a living being. This small distancing in our self-perception, keeps us apart from ourselves. There is magic in claiming relationship with all of the parts of myself. It doesn’t just change me, it changes the world I move in – how all of me can be part of all of we, living here. Rather than part of me trying to control all of it, out there. Expanded outwards, that small distinction makes all the difference. Please share this with someone you feel would enjoy it.
If this resonates with you, you might enjoy my upcoming In Touch series – starting Feb 4.
Before the isolating constraints of the COVID-19 virus, I lived and worked alone. Mostly, I do solitude well, feeling any sense of loneliness in the evening, feeling into the emptiness when purpose and pleasure are set aside for the day. So the current constraints are not significantly different for me now in terms of habit, even if radically different in terms of the wider social, economic, and health spheres surrounding me. I have lived with a fairly simple guideline—do what I can do, whatever that might be.
So, as a daily discipline, finding creative ways to connect is now my new normal: a card to my mother, with fold out paper hands and arms to provide the hug I cannot now give as she is locked down in a long-term care facility; screen calling friends to share a book passage; a virtual/local walk apart-but-together; or a simple check in. I found one Sunday morning, walking by myself in a park as it snowed lightly on the geese gathered there, how exquisitely aware I was of the quality of the connections I have with friends, with neighbors, with family. With everything I could see and hear in the park. With everything.
In making space to connect every day, what would normally be forgettable small kindnesses now seem full. While I would like to be able to tell a story about offering great acts of kindness and love, what is truer are my choices to be present in an online circle of friends, gathered in meditation, with the intention to bring light to a person or situation. To gather in an online book study to deepen my understanding of Aikido and the harmony of nature. To join a family member in troubleshooting a problem with her computer without knowing if I can help, both of us finding care in our shared attempt. To offer free online Feldenkrais sessions and recordings to support those who want a little support.
I am still most likely to feel lonely in my solitude in the evenings as I settle out of my day’s pursuits. There is no one in my bubble. But I notice a subtle sufficiency growing within me, of things being enough, just as they are. Out of this, I can be more present to the salesperson who needs to process her anxiety when I call with my request for something; to a friend struggling with today’s bad news; to the fear rising for my mother who will likely not survive an outbreak; to the hard, careful, work of the health care professionals doing their utmost to stop virus transmission on their watch. To the vulnerability of what comes next. I don’t know what wisdom this is—just that it is following the flow of each day.
As I mark
my half-way point in my Feldenkrais formal training, I am interested in the
assumptions we can hold about learning. I have worked most of my adult
life in education and remember playing school as a girl in small wooden desk on
our family farm. That early play, mimicking the adult world, cast
learning as taking tests and producing answers. When my sister
marked my test sheet correct, that meant I was a good student! But good
I am preparing now for a different kind of test, a demonstration of aikido
techniques to transition into 2nd kyu. (That means I get 2
stripes on my brown belt – 2 more tests to go for the coveted black
belt). In my school, we have an encyclopedic number of technique
variations to learn as brown belts – sort of like a finishing school to prepare
for deeper study. The approaches to learning I used sitting in my school
desk don’t work as well here. I am drilling through movement almost daily
to load the fundamentals of the techniques into my body/mind and refining my
understanding of why they work. How can I be a good student here?
Good for what?
I am hip deep in learning two traditions that many might say are on a decline –
Feldenkrais and Aikido. Both are in a similar place generationally.
The founder/creator of the school has passed away; the people who studied
directly with the founder are elders and the generations of people coming
behind them to practice is thinning out. It is reasonable to ask,
“what are these traditions good for?”
In reflecting on my progress to become a Feldenkrais practitioner and a more
seasoned aikidoka, I have a perspective on learning that seems to apply to both
learning contexts. I will call it “drip lessons”.
Drip lesson #1 Courage to Fail (over and over).
On the surface, in aikido I am learning dynamic biomechanics, lessons of force
management, and a perspective of how to organize and coordinate my movement to
achieve a result. What result? I train to remain calm and
potent as I respond to an attack in a way that diminishes the intensity of the
attack towards a balance point where peaceful options become available again
between myself and my attacker. Sounds pretty cool – people I know who
are into mindfulness and consciousness raising activities usually like
descriptions of aikido and its philosophy. And if that outcome is
like a shining temple on the top of the mountain, people look up and admire
But the lessons had while trudging on the path are the hidden lessons. I
call them “drip lessons” because as drop by drop of experience happens, the
lessons can shape you, just as water eventually shapes a stone.
In aikido practice, I mostly fail. Not because I am a bad student but
because I am practicing a way of being in movement that I do not know fully
yet. My Feldenkrais practice has been a sweet boost to my failures as I
can distinguish in finer and finer ways how my body is aligned, how I use my
perception so I can ask myself for more complex coordination and organization
patterns. In class recently, I worked for over 30 minutes with another
person, who has a black belt, on a technique that required a new-to-me kind of
coordination and organization. Without it, the technique just didn’t
work. I found this new state 3 times in 30 minutes. Can the
word do without my learning of this technique? Of course. But the
drip lesson of failure gives me gifts of gold.
Learning to rely on my curiosity and ingenuity as a learner to identify and remove what prevents me from progressing.
Learning to name where I am stuck and what I need help with to take on the challenge.
Managing my frustration to stay in and learn in the face of a challenge I can’t solve right away.
Acquiring patience and persistence.
Letting go of my ego’s need to be right, to perform well each time.
This drip lesson is kind of vital for my life as a solo entrepreneur as I explore marketing strategies, business technologies and ways to grow my business. In this venture I have struggled and failed, over and over again, improving as I go because of the lessons of each failure. I can apply this drip lesson to my Feldenkrais practice and pretty much any challenge in life worth doing.
Drip lesson #2 Facing fear
As a woman, dealing with force, falling, using strength for power, much of this territory is new. I didn’t wrestle or fight as a child, not physically, so when I face dealing with force, I am often uncertain and fearful. Both of getting hurt and of hurting others. While I particularly like the way aikido deals with force, the lesson about how to deal with force is only part of the picture. The drip lesson of finding myself triggered into fear and finding my way back to calm is a life skill that is starting to infuse who I am. While I can see that I might have a slightly higher threshold now to feel fear (still don’t like snakes too much!), I have a greater capacity to move through and beyond my fear.
Drip lesson #3 Expanding sense of what is possible
I turned 50 a couple of years ago and I am struck by something I have noticed about acquaintances and friends. The people around my age are in the process of “smalifying” or expanding. (Thanks to Paul Linden for the word). I watch peers age in front of me, their lives getting smaller as they stay with what is comfortable, safe and convenient. I watch other peers expand, even in their 70s, as they stay open, invested in what is possible.
The practice of aikido is an expansive practice – literally opening up my body, my mind and my heart. I am working with new members of our club on a novel way to learn how to roll. Rather than putting beginners into the position of trying out front and back rolls right away, we are breaking down components following a Feldenkrais lesson on rolling, so beginners can learn to trust themselves in movement and trust their contact with the floor.
It’s a classic collision of habits and practice – when I learned to roll, I was afraid of going over so contracted and stiffened myself to prevent myself from getting hurt. This bracing habit is exactly what hurt me as I thumped my way through the roll, banging my shoulder multiple times in just the way I didn’t want to do. What is needed instead is the ability to expand through our shape, so that we become as round and connected to the ground as we can. I pick on this activity because it is one where I can see for the beginners an expanding sense of what is possible. Again, the ability to roll or not roll may not be urgently important. But the drip process of starting something that is not possible and learning how it is possible is kind of what learning is all about. Learning something that you do not already know how to do. So to answer my own question, “Good for what?” I need to make a distinction. Both aikido and Feldenkrais are practices that carry extra cargo. There is the content of what you can learn and there is the capacity you can develop, drip by drip, experience by experience. I know long ago I gave up being a small expert for being an expansive explorer. Why is that important?
I recently saw Martyn Joseph in concert – Martyn is a hard-working, Welsh folk singer in the tradition of calling out, passionately for change and singing the songs of the people who don’t get heard in the halls of power. So taking a cue for Martyn, here is my passionate outburst for today. https://www.martynjoseph.net/
In the uncertainty of today’s current pandemic, economic downturns, environmental distress, a small expert just doesn’t stand a chance. Things are changing too quickly. The experts, the authorities we look to for answers don’t know. We need people who can stand their ground in the face of complexity, crisis and the threat of chaos and stay calm. Curious. Expansive. People who can thrive with failure. We need the kinds of practice lineages that cultivate this kind of person. Today more than ever.
On a personal note, stay safe! I support decisions people feel they need to make to preserve their health. I am through my 14-day waiting period after my recent trip to Seattle for Feldenkrais training and have not shown any symptoms. My seasonal sinus irritation that happens every winter is fully present.
I am offering the option to join my classes online – it is possible using a smart phone or a computer so recently gave a class to a person on the west coast, a person in another country and made a recording so a local person could catch up – she was self-isolating to protect herself with a non-virus related respiratory issue. As we live in a social isolating way, I want to urge you to continue to find ways to remain connected with others and to stay connected to yourself and your environment. From a grounded, connected place you will have more resources to manage the risk and to find your way back to calm when fear gets the upper hand.
Why did I start training to become a
Working with people in their bodies, I intuit people want an answer something like this: I have been interested in body-based practices for years – Martial arts like karate, Tai Chi and aikido, Pilates, gym workouts and physical hobbies like kayaking, hiking, swimming, walking. So I wanted to become an embodiment professional. That is partially right.
I want to age well and wisely. Movement is part of that life plan. Feldenkrais writes in Awareness through
Movement, “The ability to move is important to self-value.” As I age, this becomes more and more apparent
– my choices to move and explore what I can do physically feels like a choice
to value myself, a vote to become a rocking, lively older adult. I don’t seek a fountain of youth; I do practice
what brings a fountain of vitality.
What is truer is this – I love learning. I read voraciously as a child, I learned well
in school, learned to play musical instruments, learned languages, learned my
way through a Master’s degree in Education, learned software programs, learned
about human development, learned to become a coach, I could continue this
list. I remember walking through fields
as a child – forays through nature surrounding me – learning here included my
senses, smelling, touching everything and listening to the wind through the
Feldenkrais is primarily a learning
method. Moshe Feldenkrais chose movement
as a medium for learning because of the immediacy of the feedback loop from
brain to body. Improvement in motor pathways, the connection from senses to
nervous system to brain to nervous system to muscles can show up quickly. He wrote in The Elusive Obvious, “Organic learning is essential,…,slow and
unconcerned with any judgement as to the achievement of good or bad
results. Organic learning is individual,
and without a teacher who is striving for results within a certain time, it
lasts as long as the learner keeps at it.”
This is the baby, the toddler who learns
everything through play, persistent attempts, only taking in feedback on what
functions more or less well.
What is our purpose, our goals when we
I started with a new student this week in my
latest offering, Learn to Fall Well. At
one point during our first lesson she said, “This is like the opposite of going
to the gym.” She is active, doing
several activities every week. She is
aware of herself and the movements she knows.
In the lesson, I asked her to do movement that was different from what
she typically does in her workout classes. I asked her to attend to strange moments and
relationships, “Notice the moment when moving your R leg that your left leg is
called to follow.” Or “Notice the point
of no return, when to go further means you fall onto your right side.” I am not asking her to roll side to side 30
times, although we probably got to that number of repetitions by the end of the
assumptions do we carry when we exercise?
How do we improve our performance?
In sports performance, athletes strive to improve skill, strength,
endurance and recovery. In this context, exercise strives for an outcome. I can do 50 lunges, I can play a whole game
of soccer. I can shoot accurately from a
certain distance on the net. I am
strengthening my muscles, maintaining my bone density, improving my
teaching at Amherst, Feldenkrais talked about exercising and learning. He asked
and answered: “[Do] You know the difference between exercising and learning?
[Exercising] means that you know the final result, what you want, and you keep
on doing until you obtain it”. Learning,
as defined by Feldenkrais, is a process, an inquiry into the quality of
movement, into possibilities for how to move that supports how to function in the
happens when you discover something you didn’t already know.
jump to the assumption that I am for Feldenkrais over exercise or vice versa, what
I am more interested in is how they are related to each other. How do
we improve our performance, our capacity to move? How do we move towards
mastery? What is of interest to me, is when people decide to stop learning,
when we decide we have mastered sufficient skills to obtain our objective.
satisfies you when you exercise?
Moti Nativ, a martial arts instructor and
Feldenkrais teacher brings a lovely way to situate the relationship between
learning, exercising and training.
In the context of a martial arts class,
learning is often acquiring a technique, learning it until she/he has learned
to perform it. In my experience in
aikido, I often watch, mimic, make errors and through several attempts come to
approximate the technique I am being taught.
This is a kind of outside-in learning process – seeing a movement, being
shown a movement by a teacher or trainer and attempting to replicate the
When do I own the movement? When can I say
I have learned it? When is my task of learning the technique completed? In many learning contexts, the teacher has
the say for when a student has learned a movement. In this context, exercise then is repeating
what I have learned, until I can perform it competently with confidence, accuracy
and speed based on a teacher, a coach’s feedback.
When I have exercised enough? When is my performance of a technique good
I can stop when I reach my goal – 50 lunges
per day, enough stamina to run through a soccer game, adequate precision,
strength and control to shoot accurately at the net. If it
is true today, I can assume it will be true in future games, in future
workouts, yes? No. The problem with holding exercise in this way,
is that we can assume success in one set of conditions will predict success for
us in another set of conditions.
Moti distinguishes exercise from
training. This is another level of
exercise – performing the technique in
demanding conditions, in a more challenging and stressful environment. Under attack from a partner, in the presence
of a player on the defensive team, on uneven surfaces. In training when is my performance good
enough? When I can perform the movement,
the technique when challenged by my environment, the conditions?
In Feldenkrais, exercise means using my
awareness, attending to my inner and outer sense of movement, of myself as I
interact with my environment. Exercise
means attending to the process of the movement, not the goal. How smoothly can I move? Where do I encounter resistance, restrictions
in my movement? How can I find a
possible, even easy way to carry out a movement? How much of all of me can I attend to while
doing the movement? Can I attend to
something in my environment and within myself at the same time?
One way to talk about what this difference
is about is by looking at the question, “How do we build our capacity for
quality movement?” Exercise would answer
– by repeating movements, sequences of movements so I can perform competently,
with confidence, with accuracy, with speed.
Training would answer – by
challenging performance of our movement in more difficult, more variable
conditions. Feldenkrais would respond by
increasing the precision and consciousness of what I am doing, the ways I can
move, exploring options for functional movement, finding ways to distribute
work across more of myself. I can become more functional because I know
more ways to move, know more about how I can move, know more about how I work
in different positions, different conditions.
At the end of one of our lessons exploring
how to move from a chair to the floor and back again, my student said, “I feel
lighter when I keep my head down.” I
could have had my student repeat a sequence of movements, created an exercise
for getting down to the floor and back to the chair. But I would have robbed her of this
discovery, this way to find and own for herself a better way to move herself. This was her process of learning, using her
senses, using her own experience. I am
in it, this Feldenkrais gig, to create the opportunity to learn.
By finding a way to use the weight of her
pelvis and her head in better relationship, she changed the perceived work of
lifting herself up onto the chair and down to the floor. We explored one better way to move from the
chair to the floor and back again. We
could explore other ways as the medium to develop her capacity to discover and
move for herself.
As an older person, I could ask her to
repeat exercises to build leg strength, to maintain flexibility so she could
get up from the ground after falling. In
working in this way, in this Awareness through Movement way, I also supported
her to build her capacity to find the answer for herself.
I am becoming a Feldenkrais teacher to support people
to build their capacity to find the answers for themselves. Through
movement. Through their bodies. It’s one of the ways to support people to
become more whole, more resourceful.