Dance two steps forward, walk one step back.

I want to live on the dance floor. I don’t want to leave, ever. I want to be that healthy glitter-decorated woman every minute and not have to re-enter my ordinary life. The sparkling woman has little or no pain to contend with. It is pure joy. Flowing movement, laughter, smiles, connections with all these other happy smiling people….swirl me around and make me fly! Ok, so don’t turn me under on the right, but turn me under multiple times on the left. Only my close friends know that I am flying on endorphins, that when they wear off, I will be back to living with pain. It sure as hell doesn’t show on the dance floor. It is my secret. I was only able to dance two hours a week when I started back to contra dancing in May. Now I average twice a week, first dance to last, so three-plus hours each blessed night. I only sit out if I can’t find a partner. I don’t want to stop. My dancer’s training says to never sit down, don’t stop and let your muscles get cold; keep going, and I do. I used to leave at the break. No more. This is such progress, my heart sings. Ok, so I can’t dance two nights in a row YET or do any of the longer dances, but maybe next year.

Now, I have to tell you about the “one step back.” I don’t want to. I don’t want to tell you but harder still is to say this to myself. And I sure don’t want to make that call to my client.

I have a handful of lovely clients, mostly middle aged or older women, who need rides or help with organizing their physical space, a listening ear, and always, solid hugs. I don’t have much physical stamina. I need to be alone a lot, and rest on the couch with a cat or two, get out of the way of gravity pulling down on me. I am accustomed to this life style, carefully ordering my day to account for my physical needs. But once in a while, I slam up against a wall. Again. My most dreaded word is not “pain” but “limitations.”  One of my dear clients, yet another woman whom I clicked with instantly, who needs me in ways that I am happy to provide, who is in my heart, needs something I can’t do without causing an overload of pain. It is so damn simple, such an easy task (easy for me, overwhelming for her), but it is repetitive motion using my right arm. All I am doing is helping her to sort out her papers, for goodness sake. I sit carefully, I use both hands, I am as mindful as I can be, and I walk out of her apartment close to tears with pain and frustration. I can’t do this simple act? Really? How can the dancing woman not be able to sort papers for an hour and a half? It doesn’t make sense but there it is. Slam, up against my limitations. Again.  I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want this to be happening, but it is.

A few years ago I went to a smart and compassionate orthopedic surgeon. It was a time when I wasn’t able to dance but I could walk. It was good weather, I had the time, and friends who wanted to walk with me every day. I had enough friends to walk with that I was walking twice a day. One walk is usually 2 ½ miles/ 50 minutes. I was walking twice a day, or super long walks, because I could. Because it was delicious. However, my right knee, my good knee, was starting to be painful. This freaked me out and I went to the orthopedist. Like a good witch and a bad witch, I have a good knee and a bad knee. I need to be able to depend on my good knee.

I forget the name of this doctor, so I will just call him George. He needs a name. George did x-rays of both my knees and pronounced even my left knee, the one that had had four surgeries, very healthy. He said there was no arthritis, that especially my right knee was as healthy as a young adult. Then he explained something to me that has stuck, and this is why George is making an appearance here. He drew a square in the air, about 12 or 15 inches on a side and announced that this represented a box. Inside the box were all my abilities; outside of the box were things that were too much for me. George told me that everyone has a box, unique in size according to their abilities and limitations. If you know your box size, and stay within the box, then you will be without pain. If you draw outside the lines, so to speak, you will have pain. I had proudly told him that I was walking 25-plus miles a week. He said that was outside of my box, that I should be happy walking 2 ½ miles a day and leave it at that. I listened.

This brings me to today. All my “todays.” I am thrilled that I can dance 3 hours, twice a week. That is the size of my box now. Working with this dear client is outside of my box and I have to accept that, even if I can only accept it kicking and screaming. I have to have this hard conversation with my client on Monday. I have to put my energy into finding her another assistant who will love her and make her feel safe. This hurts my heart. And, today, I get to dance, first to last dance, in pure and utter joy. I will stay within my box. George’s metaphor is a good one. It is useful to me.

I saw this quote on Facebook today and it is my new mantra, from Osho:

Let this be the criterion always: anything that makes you festive, anything that gives you celebration, anything that makes you dance and sing to such an extent that you disappear in your dancing, in your singing, in your celebration…is the only true religion I know of.