I never really knew what the hell to do.
Jackie Berroyer once told me, "past a certain age, you have to do sports or you'll fall apart." He himself goes to the pool all the time.
So in the morning, I looked for a routine.
(No, this isn't a note about sports, you'll see.)
Push-ups? Sit-ups? Jumping around like an idiot?
I bought dumbbells. Just to see. Like an idiot.
I watched videos online. You put one knee forward and lean in and pfff.
Then one Saturday morning, after a particularly deep meditation, I told myself it was like everywhere else in life:
You have to dive in and find out for yourself.
I'm going to do whatever makes sense to me in the moment.
First: can I stand up straight? Really straight?
It was harder than I expected.
But more importantly, I realized that to gauge how upright I was, my attention had to go to every part of the body. Feet. Thighs. Arms. Back.
That's when I realized I wasn't grounded. I planted my feet flat to really feel the floor beneath them.
I won't describe the rest of the session, but to sum it up:
I discovered the practice of "moving in presence".
Nothing is planned. No exercise is mandatory.
I just let my attention settle on whichever part of the body is asking. And I do what it asks.
I stretch it. I move it. I press into it.
I quickly realize that to stretch my arm, my shoulder has to drop, otherwise my back arches.
I realize that by slightly bending my knees, I feel my verticality more, which makes moving the head easier.
I realize how each part of the body is connected to the others.
To feel and engage that connection, I move more slowly.
Then my eye catches a mirror:
I'm doing kung fu! Or Tai Chi!
I'm in one of those positions you see in films or in parks.
And here's the non-sports lesson in all this, the one that has lit up my days lately:
Something happens when I stop thinking in terms of exercise or position.
When I'm present at every moment.
There's no more position A, position B, or transition.
Every gesture is a position of balance.
In other words: whatever I'm doing, if someone walks into the room and shouts "Stop!", I should be able to freeze in a position of perfect balance.
Without falling. Without resisting. It should be easy.
It let me experience in my body an idea I had already grasped in life: there are no transitions.
There are no "useless" moments between important ones. Everything is present. Everything counts.
Whatever moment of the day it is, if someone shouts "Stop!", I should be in a position of perfect balance.
Settled. Present. Without resistance.
I could stay in that moment indefinitely.
Even in the heat of the subway. Even in the discomfort of waiting. Even in stress or tension.
At every moment, I look for the mental micro-movement that frees me.
I look for the attachment that constrains me.
I look for the illusion that makes me believe this moment doesn't count.
And I let go.