You're Either Centered or You're Not.

"You can't center a little bit. You're either centered or you're not." Last week we got into the slippery and shaky grips of mental health. Even though I'm in the space of physical movement, we all know our mental and physical stability is completely tied. All part of the same weave. Like weaving a net or spinning a wheel of clay, you need an anchor or center point for anything to take shape. Which is why in my work I think it's important to acknowledge and normalize both the stable and shaky parts of us.

I often wonder if a mental lapse lies dormant in all of us. Where, for the most part, we function just fine and are able to live amongst our community glitch-free. Then a specific combination of buttons is pressed, setting off sirens of PTSD and trauma, that last valve of deep fear is opened, and then a break in reality is triggered. Next thing you know, our arms are strapped down and we're thrown in with Brad and the rest of the 12 Monkeys.

Can this happen to anyone? If so what are the signs and techniques to help us stay "okay." Keep our hands on the wheel, or as mentioned in last week's blog, "keep out kitty helmets tight."

Fortunately, I don't see too many severe mental health disorders happening among my friends or in my family. In my mom's words, "we're all a big bag of chemicals," and so in that way, it's kind of amazing we're able to keep our chemical balance under control. What does seem to be very common is anxiety and depression; a lot of my close friends and immediate family are experiencing this recently. I listened to a podcast with a brilliant psychoanalyst Dr. James Hollis, who writes books on how to find your true purpose. He broke down why this is happening more than ever. He really emphasizes the importance of being fed by purposefulness. He said we live in a world with an enormous barrage of external stimuli, constant consumerism and nonstop ads flashing in front of our faces, usually inches from our noses. All these influences act like a barricade keeping us from getting to know ourselves. This can especially have a negative effect on influential or creative types. Without the space to be still, that reflective dreamy place, and the time to produce, where we run with it, scream it from the hilltops, show it off to the masses, we fold into ourselves. Become estranged from ourselves and our potential. This is what can lead to feelings of being stuck and deep depression.

A recent, and maybe one of my favorite Moth stories to date, was told by a really talented comedian and performance artist. Peter Aguero experienced severe stuckness writing his next show. He had no idea how to move out of it, so he started to have panic attacks. His wife didn't just suggest, but gave what was more of an ultimatum that he had to sign up for a pottery class. She felt it was important for him to do something "gentle" and "felt like a hug." Now, Peter lives in Long Island, and he has this large, rough voice and jaded demeanor; he didn't exactly feel like that was his thing, nor would it solve anything. However, she didn't let up, and he realized it was just easier to sign up than keep coming up with excuses. He said he entered a room that was both "wet and dry" and a lady approached him who looked like she'd been "happily cutting her own hair for the last fifty years." The class of regulars looked like "the island of broken toys."

The instructor came over, who had strong hands and kind eyes. He handed him a ball of clay that was both wet and dry. He said the most important thing to do is center it. "You can't center a little bit. You're either centered or you're not." This seemed to put so much pressure on it, but also just simplified it. The instructor said something really important: there are no mistakes made. Because if it starts to flail off the wheel, all you have to do is cut off another piece and start again. So Peter breathes out. He said the clay "wobbles and wobbles and wobbles and then all of a sudden it doesn't. It's still. And it's spinning... I raise my hands up and it's spinning so fast but it's not moving at all." The instructor said, "There you go, it's centered." The instructor then coaches him on how to shape; all he has to do now is "breathe." "Between every move, you have to breathe." He continued like this, and it felt so satisfying because this lump of clay is now turning into a tangible object. A new object in the world that his hands made. All because he would take a breath... make a move... the shape changes.

However stable, wobbly, or off-centered we feel coming into the studio this week, we will approach our movement the same way. I will take a ball of clay and put it into your hand. It will be both wet and dry; the moves will be both soft and hard. There are no mistakes made; if you start to stumble, just recenter and start again. By the time it's done, you will have taken a new shape, walking away as a new strong object in this world that you sculpted. I always say the work we do in the studio, those firing stabilizers and a centered sense of self, follows us outside the studio. So when that sneaky anxious feeling creeps in, where you're paralyzed heading into something hard and scary, we know to "take a breath...make a move...the shape changes."

Go here for Peter's full moth story. It's such a beautiful listen.

Excited to make your bodies sweat, smile, 

take a breath, make a move, change the shape.

XO,

Celeste