Or, what came up when I played with words today

“I just don’t understand,” Sam said, looking perplexed. “How is the bottom half of your body moving to a completely different rhythm than the top half?”

I watched his eyes track my headphone cord (Team Wired Headphones for life) down to my phone, confirming that I only had one device. If I had two phones and was listening to a different song in each ear, then maybe he’d get it.

But I didn’t. I had one phone playing one song. Something hippie and trippy, no doubt. And there I was, wiggling my way merrily down the street.

In the early Covid days, when Sam and I both switched to working from home, we had an evening ritual. When I was done work, I’d head out for a long walk. When I turned around and started walking back, I’d text Sam and he would run out to meet me. He’d run until our paths crossed, then we’d walk the last mile or two together.

Invariably, when our paths crossed, I’d be wiggling.

Yes, wiggling. Moving my body to whatever I was listening to in a way that would be rude to call dancing.

I’ve since learned that Michaela Boehm, Will Smith’s Intimacy Coach, calls what I was doing “Nonlinear Movement” and she has a whole movement around it.

I didn’t know that then though. I was just feeling joy and expressing it.

At the time, I didn’t really like my job. And, by “I didn’t really like my job,” I mean that it was sucking the life force out of me on a daily basis.

Therefore, I had to do something to restore my energy, vitality and joie de vivre at the end of the workday. I didn’t want to bring all of that heaviness to my marriage. I wouldn’t want to bring it to any relationship.

I recently saw (but can’t find) an Oprah quote where she said, “I’ve learned that not everyone is going to take responsibility for their energy, so I have to be picky about who I let into my space,” and it made me so happy. “I do that, Oprah!” I wanted to shout. “We could be friends!!!”

But back to the walk. I’d leave and spend the first however-long-it-took pounding out my rage, frustration and annoyance. Then, when I started to feel the urge to wiggle, I’d know that I’d moved all the ick through my system and had reached the point where I could turn around. Some days, I was clear before I even left my neighborhood. Others, I went 5 miles before I got the signal.

It was a system that worked for me.

I particularly loved the way that Sam and I made it work. Sam loves running but I hate it. I love long walks but needed some solo time before I wanted to walk together. So we found a win-win.

Over weeks and months, as my walks became one of my favorite parts of my day, I realized that they also helped me gain clarity. Getting out in nature and moving my body helped me generate ideas and make decisions. I learned that I was better off waiting for the “now the ick is gone” flip to switch before I made decisions. It meant that my higher self had a chance to chime in–which was much better than my drained, depleted and resentful self making running the show.

The real magic of these walks, however, came months later. In October 2021, 18 months into the pandemic, my Dad contracted Covid and was hospitalized. His case was bad and he was almost immediately moved to the ICU.

He spent the last three weeks of his life in the hospital and, during that time, my brothers and I had to make really hard decisions–-including, ultimately, the decision to take him off life support.

Any guesses on which wellness habit I prioritized during those days?

Long solo walks in nature.

I needed them. Desperately. I know because I didn’t prioritize them for a while, then realized that I was freezing up.

All of the feelings, the stress, the tension, the grief–it was overwhelming my system. Which was totally allowed–my Dad was in the hospital dying, after all–but it wasn’t how I wanted to show up for him.

He deserved for us to make the best possible decisions on his behalf. Additionally, I didn’t want to regret any actions we took. I didn’t want to look back months or years later and second guess our choices.

So I started to carve out time for daily walks. I’d walk a trail near my cousin’s house until I felt the shift, the one that I’d learned months earlier meant that the ick was out of my system and that my higher self had come back online.

Then (and only then) would I contemplate the decisions in front of me. And it worked. I don’t have regrets. I’m proud of how I showed up for my brothers and how they showed up for me. I trust the decisions we made. And I trust that my Dad would approve of them too.

I also trust the writing flow, which is how this essay got way heavier than it started. When I write, I don’t try to control anything. I sit down, put my fingers on the keyboard, and see what happens. Today, it was this.

If I had to guess, this mulling-over-decision-making came up because I keep spending time with people who are trying to make big decisions. And, in every conversation, I find myself caring less about the actual decision and more about their decision-making process.

“Do know how you make good decisions?” I keep asking. “Have you reflected on your decision-making process before?”

Not, “Have you read any books on how to make good decisions,” or, “Want to hear about my system for making decisions?”

But, “Do you know how you, the unique bundle of cells, perspective and experience called your-name, make decisions you’re happy with?”

Then I shut up, because that’s what my mentor taught me to do after I ask a question.

Me? I walk in nature until I get the urge to wiggle.

How about you?