A Sunday Letter & Home Movie

Choosing to Get Back On The Horse. Or Not.

Content Warning: This letter is about pilates and mental health. It may not be for you! Let’s chat next time, if so.

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How are you feeling? Today marks the third day in a row I’ve intentionally revisited my pilates routine in months. The amount of months is too great to accurately count. Of course I’ve moved my body though. Whether it be dancing between work, at my desk, or in the evenings when out with a friend where the sweat on my skin was sticky and salty. “I love your energy!” a friend once said to me when dancing. Energy, something that I once had— that I had longed for— lost in a gulf. “I love it too!” I sang back as we continued to dance. That evening I thought about the joy in having energy. The freedom and the relief of such.

How bold.

How aggravating.

While returning to dance came soon after my return to a meditation practice late last spring, my “comeback” to pilates was slow. Possibly because it heavily depends on strength? I had so much of it once. Earlier that winter to be specific. Even when I was heavier. However, to feel my legs wobble and arms fall, felt like too much of a burden to bear at one point. I hesitated to fold my stomach or lift my legs, in fear mostly that I would deduce the growth I already made. Nowadays, to observe the expansion of my being along with the contraction of my muscles is notably one of my biggest strengths. It is not about how much of it I do. Or, how good I am at it (I have lost* much of the skill in the months). It is the latitude of which I do it. Does that make sense? Have you ever felt similarly? 

I have always had a fraught relationship with exercise as a tool of engagement between communities. If you read my blog in the early aughts, you would be pressed to find any relation of my “lifestyle” work inclusive of it. Relationships, mental health, love, child-rearing, all on the table for discussion. Exercise… too much room for misrepresentation, judgment, and shame. All of which I don't want to feel and I don’t want others to either. Undoubtedly, it is the echo of the white supremacist origins of exercise that many of us feel whether at our local Crunch or in the comfort of our living rooms.

The past week of exercising ostensibly, is for the physical-nature of my body, but actually, it is about the journey of being home. Home, not in the way one may naturally think of it. More on that soon. In the meantime, I am writing a longer piece on the colors of the house meant as a means of orienting oneself for you. Until then…

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Something to watch: little work out home video

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Something to wear: Buttery Soft Leggings Right Here

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Something Else to Read: When Did Fitness Become A Luxury Item

With love,

L

P.S I made a 30-minute flow hip-hop playlist below.