A sore tailbone and the way being watched changes the essence of the thing.

When I arrived at the jumping place in San Marcos for the first time, I was centered. As I stepped off of the platform with my heart racing, I said to myself “I surrender” and I fell down, down, down, toes pointed, body relaxed, and slipped easefully into the water, 30 feet below. I emerged, laughing, “that was fun!”

Yesterday as I walked to the jumping place in San Marcos, I noticed that I didn’t really feel like jumping.  But when I arrived, a handsome man was there. “Si tu saltas, yo salto,” he purred at me, and my heart began to race again, but this time with a different quality to it–thumping out of my body and filling me with a sense of urgency. I ran off of the platform, arching my back in a centerless desire to be seen by him. Time and space blurred. THWACK. My body hit the water flat like a pancake, sending a stinging shock through my whole being. There was a collective groan of empathy from all the onlookers, including the handsome man, who proceeded to do an elegant backflip into the water and never speak to me again. 

After a good cry and a hug from my friend, I was able to laugh, and to notice: How drastically my movements shifted out of integrity when I was performing for this man’s gaze! It reminded me of a physics experiment I read about in which scientists looked at how light particles move when observed versus unobserved, and found that the presence of an observer changes the quality of the movement. It also reminded me of something I see often in my work: when we are trying to perform for a gaze–things go wrong. People who stutter often don’t have much difficulty speaking when they are in a speech therapy session, because fluency does not feel required in that space. People with social anxiety feel fine about expressing themselves when it’s to somebody they trust. 

Today, my tailbone is sore, and I am grateful for the reminder: Amina, move with integrity.