“Oh, here I am. I am home again.“
This is the thought that always pops into my mind the moment I settle into my workouts. Whether I’m dragging myself into the gym and picking up the weights, lacing up my shoes and going for a run, or simply taking a long walk at the nearby park… Here I am. I am home again.
There’s always a huge sense of relief, a big exhale. There’s no more to do list or emails lingering in my inbox. There’s no more laundry piling up and mail I’ve forgotten to send, again. There’s no deadline looming, designs to finalize, or lines of code to write. There are no calls or voicemails I’ve neglected to listen to.
There’s just me, my music, and movement.
And just like that, I am home again.
I’ve written before about finding myself through movement. How running, lifting weights, and walking all saved my life in their own ways. How they changed my relationship with my body, and eased an obsession that nearly destroyed me.
It wasn’t until I was deep in a conversation about spirituality, awakenings, and creating more alignment and integration in my work, that I realized something else about movement that hadn’t occurred to me.
I struggle to sit down and meditate… to be still.
And you know what? That’s okay.
It’s okay because I have no issue being alone with myself and my thoughts, I actually love to be lost in that space. When I was little I used to love bedtime, because it meant I could close my eyes and just be with my thoughts. I could ponder life and death and everything in between (yes, as a preteen, this is what consumed my mind). And it was the best time of the day, because there were no interruptions. There was only darkness, breath, and myself.
Not being able to sit still and meditate doesn’t mean I’m not able to face myself in the ways that we all need to. It simply means it’s not the meditation style for me.
Truth is, I don’t like to sit and be still and focus on my breath as often as I desire to be in motion. Because motion brings me deeply back into my body in a way that stillness never has. It quiets my mind. And then there’s the music. It amplifies the feelings and emotions and desires that need to surface. It puts me in a space I can’t always describe. Music invites in something so divine and personal and magical.
I feel inspired.
I receive divine downloads.
I have my best ideas.
I make sense of the madness.
I find peace where there’s been pain.
I regain my center.
Most importantly, I settle back into myself.
As I spoke with my coach about knowing it was a big time of integration and alignment for me, she talked about Panache Desai and how he meditates in every moment of every day. When changing diapers and chasing toddlers. There doesn’t need to be a set routine. There’s no right spiritual or meditative practice.
For some it’s prayer. For some it’s sitting on the meditation pillow. For some it’s being in nature or with animals. For some it’s gardening. For some it’s coloring in a coloring book. For some, and for me, it’s movement.
The beauty of our spiritual practices is that they’re ours to define, because they’re tied so closely to our personalities, beliefs, lifestyle, and needs. We get to decide what fits and what doesn’t. We get to explore and play and experience the divine in our own way. We get to call it by the name that most resonates.
And so instead of worrying that I don’t spend “enough time on the meditation pillow”, I put on my shoes, pop in my earbuds, and I move in the ways my body craves. And every single time, I come home to myself. Every single time, I feel refreshed and rejuvenated and reconnected to something greater than myself.