Method in Madness

I recently started jumping again. I used to jump all the time when I was younger. Our family had a gigantic trampoline. But I kicked the habit in my mid teens and hadn’t relapsed until the other night when I was passing Kalani’s small weight room. I saw a mini tramp. No one was watching so I bounced once, just to remember what it used to feel like. It felt good. So I bounced again. The next day I brought my ipod. Even more fun. But today, there were other people working out in the gym. I knew I’d get uncool points if I was caught wiggling on the tramp, and I want desperately to look cool. So instead I bounced nonchalantly, as though prepping for a serious workout. Until a groovy song came on, too groovy to pass up, and my butt started doing the wiggle. Before I could stop myself, I was channeling James Brown’s rear end.

It’s a subtle practice, this jumping business. I jump up, gravity takes over and everything my body has to offer the ground comes crashing down, thud. I can instantly feel where my body is supported and where my knees buckle and my hips turn inwards. But then something miraculous. Momentum, counterbalancing gravity, lifts my body from the ground and I experience, for a moment, weightlessness. It is ecstatic. My mind soars as I feel supported by air. I come down again and parts of my body that before were quivering are now slightly stronger, a miniscule amount of growth, but solid, tangible growth nonetheless.

I’ve always resisted stillness. When I was diagnosed with cancer, the thought of being forced to stay in one place possibly for the rest of my life terrified me. But I have come to relish stillness like a fine wine. The trick has been developing method, breaking down the impossible into infinitesimal steps, each built on the solid foundation of the previous. Can’t becomes can-at-a-different-pace. When I think my body can’t sustain, I calm down and watch for that subtle bounce that lands on a stronger core each time, more aware of how to support itself with each breath. And the amazing part is that every time I look for the support, it’s there. And that feels just, well, enlightening.