I was the kid who couldn’t wait to leave home.  Any excuse!  Preparation for vacations, trips to camp, performances out of town, continuing training, business meetings — always very exciting.  I fully embraced the fact that I was going to arrive somewhere, and didn’t really dwell on the other side of the coin, which was that I had left someplace behind.

I was eager to head off to college, to move to a new state after I married, and then to make a home in Texas.  I’ve left places when it was my choice, and I’ve left places when it wasn’t my choice.  When it was my choice, it was better.

Some leavings were full of drama.  Leaving a person, a situation, a lifestyle.  A job, a relationship, an identity.  Those instances probably make for juicier stories.  But those are in the past, and I am content to leave them there.  They taught me all they had to teach, and I learned.  Sometimes, it is time for things to end.  The show has closed. Next!

Nowadays, I love to be at home with sweetheart, cats, my lovely office, our artwork, and the life that is here for us together.  I leave home almost every day, going to activities that I love, for work and play.  These leavings and homecomings form a delightful and nurturing rhythm for my life now.

Image via Wikipedia

Music accesses a deep part of the brain.  Music, along with fragrance, has the power to transport, through memory, to another time and space.  One whiff, two chords, are enough to start the time machine and elicit a flood of feeling, sensations, and thoughts.

I’m classically trained as a singer and pianist.  I spent several years as a radio announcer at classical music stations, and grew up in a household where music of all genres played constantly.  To say that I have a “soundtrack” for my life is an understatement.  And yet — do you ever really notice the wallpaper?  Sometimes I think that since music was always “on,” I don’t have those auditory snapshot moments where an event, a person, a circumstance, is crystallized somewhere in the recesses, folds, and wetware of my cranium.  Or perhaps I have too many, and so I take them for granted.  It is hard for me to know.

Choral music, art songs, arias, jazz, show tunes.  Pop music, much like furniture or appliances, is present but largely ignored.  I do remember some epic concerts back in the day:  Stevie Wonder, Joanie Mitchell, John Denver, Simon and Garfunkle. Strange that I remember what happened on stage, and I remember isolated events and people.  But there is nothing like the archetypal love story or movie scene that some people can describe, recalled by a song. Not for me.  Not at all.

I can hear the introduction to any chorus or aria from Handel’s Messiah and launch into a long riff of scripture quoting and singing.  Messiah in toto is not so suited for solo singing, turns out.  Same with Bach’s B-Minor Mass, the Beethoven Missa Solemnis, Brahms, Faure, Verdi Requiems — any of the major choral works or anthems, they are “in there.”  I need only hear a snippet to remember a performance, a service, a festival, a rehearsal, singing the soprano solos, or conducting.  I remember who sat next to me on the risers.  Where is he now?  I hear a few bars of Thelonious Monk and remember a curious and awkward date with a young man who was passionate about jazz, and about being at the hot spot with a pretty girl on his arm — and little else.  I remember Chicago’s “As Time Goes By,” dancing at a high school Homecoming with my borderline-abusive boyfriend.  I hear a song from “Fiddler on the Roof,” and remember a crazy night with about eight high-school friends, crammed into a red Corvair at the drive-in, singing along at the tops of our lungs through the whole movie. . .

One of my beginning voice students was singing Henry Mancini’s “Moon River” at her last lesson.  I was suddenly plunged into a stream of memory, of the first date with my ex-husband, now, oh, 35 years ago?  My little emotional canoe was heading toward the rapids, and somehow I managed to jump out and just remember the concert and the music, without drowning in the memory of all the bad and good of those years.

Does music bring me joy?  Undoubtedly.  But it also brings memories; and, I am not surprised to realize, many are rooted in sadness, sorrow.  I let the tears flow, I feel myself breathe, I keep choking out the melody, dropping out when my sobs prevent the high notes.

This post is inspired by a prompt from the Scintilla Project.

It wasn’t until I was on my own again, and found that I had to “rely on the kindness of strangers” (OMG the drama!  Can you get any more intense than Blanche DuBois?) that I really felt grown up.  Paying my own bills, making my own way.  And perhaps most importantly — feeling the freedom to make mistakes that would affect ME directly. Instead of avoiding the possibility of making a mistake because the cost was too great (risking marraige, family, prestige, position), I could simply “float” an idea or course of action — and be completely responsible, the consequences fell to me, and me alone.

“Alone” is an interesting and much-feared word.  None of us need ever be alone — and yet, for the big things, I realized, it’s just me.  Nobody to come and rescue me, nobody to blame.  Just me.  That needs to be OK.

And when it is, you’re a grown-up.

Then, relationships can spring from love, fun, and curiosity, rather than need or fear.  Actions can be freely chosen, rather than coimpelled, or taken mindlessly because that’s what I’ve always done.

Moshe Feldenkrais called it “maturity.”  Not just a physical maturity as a fully functioning, sexual human being — but with the wisdom and experience to choose courses of action that contribute to, rather than detract from, the attainment of one’s desires on the way to happiness.  Are drama and discontent the children of youth?  Not necessarily.  However, to choose happiness — deep, true contentment, satisfacrtion, and happiness — perhaps this is maturity.

Just because one advances in years and wisdom, doesn’t mean that one has to get “set in their ways.”  The most truly mature and wise people I have known have retained an inner innocence, a genuine, authentic, playful self that can be called child-like, rather than “childish.”  the ability to play, to enjoy, to learn, explore and to MOVE — to combine the best of both worlds — that’s a lot to navigate.  Perhaps you have to be a grown-up to aspire to that, let alone to master it.

That’s the inner piece of “being a grown-up” that they don’t tell you about.  The inner piece that brings inner peace. Will I ever come to terms that the DOB on my driver’s license indicates that I am MUCH older than I feel?  Maybe that’s a good sign.

I like it.

Image via Wikipedia

Who are you, gentle reader, Curious One?  Where do you live, how did you find your way here, how do we connect through this intimate/isolating medium?

The question is also reflective, a writer’s prompt from the .  Since it is time for introductions:  Hello.  I’m MaryBeth, currently from Houston.  I found my way here, impelled by the yearning for self-expression.  It seems I have always (I mean ALWAYS) been “expressive,” which, as a child, meant that I was emotional, energetic, displayed every thought and feeling and plan and move in every cell of my body.  Sometimes, as a child, I was sent to my room in punishment for being “too much.”  Stay there until you can be a good girl again.  I learned that my ability to think and to express myself was not always welcomed.  I never got very good at pretending I didn’t have an opinion, or a feeling — a response — to what was going on around me.  Perhaps that is why I gravitated toward the arts, and performance, where display and expression is the whole point.

My performing days are mostly past.  Now, my self-expression takes shape here, on my virtual stage and store-front.  I write to express, to connect, to contribute.  Why?  Because those things make me happy. I carry these values into my work with people via the Feldenkrais Method, so that they can do the same, if they wish.

Out of these core values, other aspects of my identity spring, in answer to “Who am I?”  I am a translator between different points of view and vocabularies; a welcomer to unfamiliar experiences, a hostess-with-the-mostess, a keen observer and commenter on contemporary culture and Culture, a not-easily-sound-biteable creative making her way in the world.

Expression, connection, contribution.  Birds of a feather will flock together!  Whether you are dropping by as a fellow Scintilla participant, a friend, colleague, long-time reader, or  curious browser — welcome, and do leave a comment if you are so inclined.  Come back any time.

Moshe Feldenkrais acknowledged the widest possible range of human aspirations, motivations, and behavior. Sometimes acting with the gentleness of a lamb is completely appropriate, as is acting with ferocity and power like a lion on occasion. It’s also within our human capacity to behave like a dog, a pussycat, a fox, a snake, or an ass! If you want to take effective action in the world, you need at least three distinct choices. Only one choice — you have an ultimatum to deal with. Two choices, you have a dilemma. With three or more choices, the world opens up, your perspective changes, there is space to take a breath. With the opportunity of choice, you are fully human. Thinking, reflection, discernment are required. The ability to make finer and finer distinctions allows you to “fine-tune” your responses and your experience. You are in a creative space. And then, you MOVE.

Our classes are safe, experimental settings in which to fine-tune your action in the world — whether that is extreme sports, playing the violin, gardening, or sitting at a computer. Better moving means better living. Better is, well, better.

See you on the floor. . .

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) have issued an advisory for travelers to Carnival and Mardi Gras abroad, so that revelers can have a good time and stay safe and healthy, too.  It’s good advice for any time, actually.

The CDC identifies five major health risks associated with Mardi Gras festivities:

• crime
• unsafe food
• excessive drinking
• risky sexual behavior
• dehydration/heat exhaustion

I got to thinking about how the Feldenkrais Method could be useful for Carnival survival — whether you’re dancing the night away in Rio, letting the good times roll in New Orleans, or elbowing your way toward a second (or third) helping at the local church pancake feed.  Here are 4 ways to outsmart the worst Mardi Gras health hazards.

1. Awareness.  In the Feldenkrais Method, “awareness” is not an abstract or “woo-woo” ideal.  It is practical, and always in service to improved functioning.  Learn to pay attention:  to yourself,  to where you are, what is around you, how you plan to get out of there if you need to.  To pay attention means that you are gathering information, and “intelligence” in several senses of the word.  Better information in the moment means you can make better decisions.

2. Sensory sensitivity:  This is an aspect of awareness, but distinct enough to elaborate upon further.  We learn, and are encouraged, to ignore our own sensations of pain, and fatigue.  We are also taught to ignore or distrust our sensations of pleasure.  In short, we numb our unpleasant and vulnerable sensations so that our internal “calibration system” gets all out of whack. As Brene Brown says, the evidence for this numbing is that we are the most in- debt, obese, addicted, and medicated adult cohort in U.S. history.  We don’t just overdo it at Mardi Gras.  We overdo it every day.

The Feldenkrais Method allows you to re-calibrate your internal system so that you can trust your sensations.  You are less apt to overdo it (with eating, sex, or drinking at Mardi Gras; or exercise, arguing, computer time, spending) when you can feel when “enough is enough.”  You will notice  that the buffet food seems “iffy,” and you won’t eat it.  You will sit down for awhile if your back hurts.  Moderation is only possible if you can feel the difference between “enough” and “too much.”

3. Reversibility. In short, don’t do anything past the point of no return.  Be able to engage, and disengage, with any movement, situation, or behavior, with ease. See #1, #2.

4. Recovery.  Moshe Feldenkrais said that in the wild, the animal who survives is not the one who never gets injured, but rather it is the one who knows how to recover.  The crazy, spontaneous, unpredictability of life is what makes it worth living, with good stories to tell about it in the bargain as well. We find our limits by exceeding them. If you overdo it, don’t keep overdoing it.  Learn, rest, and recover.

Armed with awareness, sensory sensitivity, reversibility, and recovery, you can survive just about anything.  Even Mardi Gras.

Image via PBS.org

It’s Saturday night, and we’re watching Austin City Limits.  It’s a bluegrass show tonight, featuring Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers.

True confession:  I have loved Steve Martin since the first time I saw him, in the early 1970′s, on Saturday Night Live.  That qualifies as “back in the day.”

Through the years, I have marveled at his talent, versatility, and creative output. He’s a magician,a comedian, an actor, a playwright, and author. He creates and finds expressive potential everywhere. He’s a major creative force in American culture today. So there.

Tonight, I’m enjoying watching his mastery of the banjo. He is Mister Cool.  He is playing the HELL out of that thing, with such an economy of movement!  There’s nothing wasted. It is simple, clean, and kind of minimalist. He makes it look effortless. He and the guys clearly have a ball making music.

That’s the true mark of mastery:  the ability to do something difficult, and make it look easy. Paradoxically, you don’t get “there” without a lot of work. Malcolm Gladwell quotes the 10,000 hour rule. If you’re doing the math at home, that works out to four hours a day, every single day, for about seven years.

The part they don’t tell you is that those 10,000 hours are not hours of rote drudgery. Repetition alone is no guarantee of quality. The work is more like the fully-absorbed attention of a child at play. Even when there seems to be no improvement for  long  stretches of time, the person on the path to mastery persists in the playful process of getting better at it. You trust the process, keep showing up, and eventually you and your work are transformed.

I like to think that Steve Martin’s process has been “making the impossible, possible; the possible, easy; and the easy, elegant.” Those are the words of Moshe Feldenkrais, describing the Method that bears his name. Movement by movement, action by action, choice by choice, by baby steps, you get there.

Feet, Euw. (Photo credit: bark)

As a classically-trained singing teacher and vocal coach, it has been my privilege to teach aspiring performers at all levels.  From career-track professionals in opera and musical theater, to church choir singers, and those who only sing in the shower — I’ve developed a good reputation (over 25 years, at this point) in my field for developing singers with beautiful, expressive voices.  My point of view has always been a bit unusual, which is one of many reasons that I no longer teach at a university.  I always thought of developing the person first, believing that the voice inside would emerge.  I observed that employing the reverse order in that process produced undesirable results — unless you were in the business of growing an especially delicate strain of narcissist.  To me, voice is an almost sacred form of self-expression.  To help someone unleash that expression — or to find a self that has something to express — is interesting and wonderful.

And so, an unusual voice lesson last week sticks in my mind.  A new client, E., has sought several Feldenkrais sessions to help him to deal with his symptoms  resulting from Parkinson’s Disease.  He is tall, slender, and in his late 60′s. He says he was diagnosed shortly after he retired, three years ago. His left hand trembles almost continuously.  His walk is slightly stooped, with the characteristic Parkinsonian shuffle. His natural soft-spoken demeanor has been rendered wispy, weak, and almost inaudible. He complains of unstable balance, and fatigue when walking.  This was his third session.

Previously, he and I explored how he senses and uses his feet, and how his center of gravity can be used for power and propulsion.  We began this day with him lying on his back, with his right knee bent and right sole of his foot standing on the table.  His left leg was long.

First, I asked him to hum a sustained pitch in a comfortable range.  He made several attempts, each of them very soft, unsteady, and lasting less than two seconds.  I asked him to review an earlier movement — to push, gently, into his standing right foot, and to experience again how  the pressure from his foot can cause his pelvis to roll, as if beginning to roll onto his left side.  We began to explore how his inhalation and exhalation could coordinate with the movement.  He sampled inhaling while pressing with his foot, and then he tried exhaling with the pressure.  For now, we settled on the latter.

After doing a few of these gentle movements on both sides, it was time for a rest.  His breathing seemed less hurried, and his tremor had decreased noticeably.  I asked him, once again, to hum.  There was more sound, and he was able to sustain the hum steadily for a full three seconds.  As I  brought his attention to the vibrations he could feel by gently touching my figertips to his forehead, cheeks, and chest, his breathing deepened, and he was able to hum for over five seconds.

Next, I asked him to press the table with his foot and turn his pelvis as before.  This time, we added a hum as he rolled his pelvis.  His hum became stronger, and of longer duration, each time. And then, I asked him to open his mouth, and to make an “Ah” sound on the same pitch as before.

E. took a breath, pressed his foot on the table.  His pelvis began to roll, and I heard, “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”  Again, on the next press, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“That seems a lot stronger,” he said.

His wife’s eyes were the size of saucers.

His voice was just as strong while pushing with the other foot.  And then, I asked him to see what would happen if he bent both knees, stood both feet on the table, and pressed into both feet?  He saw how he could easily lift his pelvis away from the table.  Nobody would have guessed that this elderly man would be able to do a “Bridge.”  And then, as he pressed the table, slowly lifting his pelvis, we heard, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

We paused so he could rest.  I spoke to his wife.

“He’s going to be ‘talking back’ to you now.  I hope you’re okay with that!”

She smiled broadly.  ”Oh yes!  That will be just fine!”

He stood up, and walked.  Standing tall, his gaze level with the horizon instead of down toward the floor.  I asked him to take a breath, and to feel the pressure of his feet on the floor as he stood — and then to speak. “Honey, I love you!” he boomed.  His wife beamed. His hand was quiet.

There is more that he can learn. Will we cure his Parkinson’s?  Probably not. (Although E. would fight me on that.  He is a man of faith, and believes that he will be completely cured.  Let it be so.)  Will his tremor disappear?  Now, THAT is quite possible.  Just as he discovered his voice, quite surprisingly, he will discover how to manage and keep a good quality of life where it most matters.  Like ‘talking back’ to his wife.

Marlene Dietrich in Shanghai Express (1932), via Wikipedia

Falling in love is wonderful! Yet, accidental falls are a leading cause of injury and emergency room visits. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has found that, on an annual basis, falls affect 1 in 3 older adults.

Follow these 5 tips to “fall-proof” your life, at any age:

1. Improve your awareness.

Distraction and boredom are the leading causes of accidents behind the wheel and at work. Both pull you out of the present moment. Mindfulness practices, such as meditation, yoga, and Feldenkrais, can develop your capacity for awareness to “be here, now.” When you improve your overall awareness and ability to pay attention, you will increase your personal safety.

2. Take your time.

“Hurry” creates carelessness, distraction, error — and greater risk of injury.  You can learn to move quickly without hurrying! When you stand up, take just a few moments to “get organized” before you go lurching off immediately and risk a fall. In less than 10 seconds, you can feel and re-position your feet so that you can walk without turning your knee or ankle. Feeling the surface of each foot on the floor (whether barefooted or not) can help you feel more stable and secure in movement.

3. Develop coordination, along with strength and flexibility.

The value of exercise to maintain overall health is well known. And yet, coordination seems undervalued in many exercise programs. The appearance of proper form may not tell the whole story. If you are holding your breath during an action, or if you feel unpleasant twinges with the exertion, then those are clues (learned through sensing) that your coordination could be improved. In fact, well-coordinated movement feels like it flows easily, and there is no feeling of strain (as distinct from the work required). Classes or lessons in the Feldenkrais Method can help you to fine-tune your everyday movements for better coordination. This fine-tuning process will also positively affect your balance, posture, and gait – all elements of organized movement. Improved coordination can help keep you safe.

4. Adapt to prevent falls.

In your home environment, make sure that floors and walkways are clean and cleared. Rugs should be securely fastened to the floor to avoid slippage. If you need a rail in the tub, install one. Wear shoes with skid-proof soles. If you must use a ladder or step-stool, be sure that it is properly braced, and see if you can get a friend to spot you. Line yourself up (and your center of gravity) directly with what you are reaching for. Re-position the ladder, rather than leaning.

Sometimes, YOU must do the adapting. Get your eyes checked and corrected if necessary, and turn on an extra light if you need to. Alcohol, sugar, and some food allergies can cause impairments that affect your balance, awareness, and attention, so “know thyself” and take appropriate action.

5. Learn to fall.

For high-performance martial artists, falling is an every-moment possibility. They don’t try to avoid falling. Instead, they learn to fall WELL, and they practice it until they have mastered it.

The usual reaction to the feeling of falling is to powerfully contract the extensor muscles (also known as the “anti-gravity” muscles) of your back and neck, and to “brace” the fall with a rigid and outstretched limb. The resulting stiffness practically guarantees that you will, indeed, fall – and that you’ll be hurt. Regular lessons with a Feldenkrais teacher can safely and gently teach you how to feel softness in your body, how to fold and roll with minimum impact – and get up again!

Mindful movement can help you to move safely and comfortably at any age.  Let us show you how!

Image via Wikipedia

A news report on the radio or TV catches your ear.  An item shows up on Twitter, or in your Facebook feed.  An article in a magazine jumps out at you.

“New research shows [Insert one of your favorite activities here] can lead to [your worst nightmare/direst consequence imaginable]. . .”

Coffee.  Sugar.  Alcohol.  Mobile phone use.  Sitting.

In the face of such frequent and contradictory reports, it is tempting to stick your head in the sand and just shrug your shoulders as you continue to do what you like.  On the other hand, human nature can rear its dogmatic head, and you might be tempted to make a rule that supports your own behavior.  [You know you've made a rule if you think your way is what is best for everyone. The rule also probably includes the word "always" or "never."]  Examples abound:  from advocates of particular dietary practices, exercise disciplines, spiritual beliefs, political ideologies.

Is it just human nature?  Is it an ego out-of-awareness that insists it is right, and everyone else is wrong?  Modern media revels in the opportunity for “Point/Counterpoint” argument, trash-talking, and polarization.  While it might make for “TV worth watching,”  it seems that in most cases, you are better served by having a more nuanced viewpoint.  Warning:  you will get a lot of flack for answering “It depends.”  You can’t just spout bumper-sticker aphorisms, and you have to stay actively engaged with your own thinking process, to develop a sense of fine-tuning in your beliefs and corresponding actions.  Alas, it is inconvenient, and any opportunities of offering a 30-second sound bite can be kissed goodbye.

So now, a new book and accompanying article in the New York Times has come onto the radar. It is potentially as important as the early research on the effects of cigarette smoking.  A lot of people will be upset.  The subject?  YOGA.

In the article, How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body, renowned Yoga teacher Glenn Black takes a courageous (and some might say heretical) viewpoint about the yoga-is-for-everyone mindset.  Quoting from the article:

Black has come to believe that “the vast majority of people” should give up yoga altogether. It’s simply too likely to cause harm.

Not just students but celebrated teachers too, Black said, injure themselves in droves because most have underlying physical weaknesses or problems that make serious injury all but inevitable. . . “Yoga is for people in good physical condition. Or it can be used therapeutically. It’s controversial to say, but it really shouldn’t be used for a general class.”

The entire article is worth a read.  Black’s viewpoint, and that of a new book The Science of Yoga: The Risks and The Rewards, is a highly nuanced and sensible one.  As a Feldenkrais teacher who works with a lot of yoga enthusiasts, I’m often asked “What do you think of yoga?” or “Is yoga GOOD?”  I often wonder if their underlying question is, “Should I be doing yoga?”  I’m delighted to say “It depends.”  It’s not just the WHAT (Yoga).  It’s also the HOW — how it is taught, how you approach it, how you monitor yourself. . .

Moshe Feldenkrais was famous for saying, “If you don’t know what you’re doing, then you can’t do what you want [to do].”  Ah, there’s the rub. With yoga, it is important to know what you are doing.  Many people begin a yoga class without having the slightest inkling what their physical limitations are, with the belief that yoga will “fix them.”  The temptation to stretch just a little bit farther, or to conquer that challenging pose TODAY, is a siren song that can lead to serious injury. Of course, many people enjoy and benefit from their yoga practice. Surely, the difference lies in the experience and intentions of the individual in any given moment.

I’m not bashing yoga. You can get hurt doing ANYTHING — yoga, crossing the street, cooking, ballet, playing the violin. . . you can even put yourself in pain during a Feldenkrais class, if you aren’t paying careful attention to yourself!  The bottom line is, people are not going to stop yoga (just as some people have not stopped smoking), no matter what “the evidence” might say.  People will indeed continue yoga, as they will continue to study ballet, climb sheer rock faces, drive fast, eat sweet foods, clean their houses.  Of course, the analogy breaks down a bit with the examples of smoking, driving, and shooting, as other people can potentially be harmed by your actions.  But that’s another debate.

I hope the new book will say that yoga is an interesting and potentially satisfying pursuit. I hope it will say that there are substantial risks, and that prospective students need to begin with both eyes open and feet on the ground, before attempting that headstand. As with living in general, your presence and attention are required.  You can’t expect to “phone it in,” and nobody is exempt from the laws of physics.  I hope the book will say, “You have to pay attention.”

I’d love to see our culture and our education system support the idea that it is beneficial to learn to respect yourself, and the physical sensations your body send to tell you “THIS is enough.” If we can learn to appreciate the long-term process of learning and improvement over a lifetime, rather than the fastest result possible — well, we might just then be on to something.