Friday Dispatch: Make a Shape

Or, how to restore your fractured attention and rest your tired brain

Friday greetings,

This week has been a whir of Hebrew verbs, putting off getting our taxes ready, loving my kids through their respective young adult experiences, and poor M.J. getting sick. I also wrote a new piece that was published by a major paper.*

On Wednesday after lunch, I felt such thick brain fog and mental overload that I took M.J.’s loving advice and surrendered to a long nap and a quiet walk in the woods.

Then yesterday, my mom and I also spelunked around a new-to-us park, appreciating the soft percussion of dry leaves rustling together and the songbirds heralding the start of spring.

My mom, a lifelong dancer, becomes one with the branches, the boulders, the fallen trunks, the buds, the reeds. Watching her balance, climb, and revel in nature at 81 inspires me to do what I can to stay limber enough to scamper around with my kids 30 years from now, BH may it be so.

Let’s get a selfie, she suggested.

We wandered back towards a playground area, where she spotted yet another lovable tree, notably smaller than the oaks and maples in the woods. She immediately reached for a branch and released into a deep stretch.

Then, it was my turn. She walked me through the same: Shoulders, side of neck, back of neck, upper back, middle back…

I heard her voice settle into a tone and cadence borne of decades of teaching, guiding, keeping time, and helping dancers and non-dancers find their bodies in space.

Find a pose, she instructed. And hold.

Now change. And hold.

And again.

My time and attention sometimes feel monumentally fractured. I spend a lot of hours sitting at my desk, and I spend a lot of hours in my head. To be clear, lots of good stuff happens at my desk. Some good stuff happens in my head, too (though things can get dicey up there).

But wow, this week, my brain was tired. I don’t think I registered how hungry my body and spirit were for more movement, time outside, trees, letting go, and slowing down until I heard my mother’s voice guiding me to dance with a tree.

Make a shape. Hold. Now change. And again.

10/10 recommend.

Shabbat Shalom and love,

Jena

* Holy hamentaschen! The TIMES OF ISRAEL published my new piece. Read it here.

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