Sometimes I use the Pomodoro Technique. I set my phone timer for twenty-five minutes, focus on a task, then take a short break before focusing for another twenty-five.
The other day, my break time hit. I touched the screen to stop the noise. Then, before I could plan how to spend those delightful five minutes, I was standing over my kitchen counter, AirPods in, thumbing to my Dancy Chill Spotify playlist.
It’s like my body carried me there, knowing what it needed and finally able to communicate it, finding my mind rarely quiet.
And I danced.
Take what you’re picturing, and add middle-school-dance awkward. But also fill me with pure joy.
God, it felt good. Just moving and singing, without caring how I might be perceived.
(I did occasionally worry Bob would come out of our “second home office,” aka master bedroom, but the fear would quickly dissipate.)
I don’t have to know—that’s the point.
When it comes to crisis and grief, movement and breath are key. Our emotions exist in our bodies and need to be expressed. What did my dancing have to do with my emotional state that day? I don’t know.
And I don’t have to know—that’s the point.
Stand up right now and shake.
Shake an arm, then the other.
Lift a leg and shake your foot.
Jump up a few times.
Stretch your mouth.
Laugh.
Keep moving.
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