Picking A Wellness Practice

Dancing like no one is watching at grandma’s house! Photo by mom.

In my last blog post, I wrote about how wellness practices vary from person to person, and what may be a wellness practice for you may not be a wellness practice for someone else. In order for a wellness practice to be just that—something that contributes wellness—the practitioner must have made the choice to engage in the practice, and the practice leads to greater (mental/physical) health and well-being.

But perhaps you are reading this and saying to yourself, “Yeah, I’m interested in trying a new wellness practice—but I don’t know what I want to do!” As the holidays roll on by you are likely to be inundated with deals from health clubs, nutritionists, meditation teachers, and spas promising wellness in the new year. Maybe some of these options resonate with you. Or maybe none of them do! I get it. Sometimes it can be hard to choose a path to explore, especially if you are struggling with mental health issues. If that is the case for you, my first question to you is, “What did you do with free time as a kid?” If you weren’t afforded the opportunity to do what you wanted with your free time as a kid, “What did you daydream about doing as a kid?”

I am an only child, and I spent a lot of my after-school and weekend hours left to my own devices. It was not yet the era of a million extracurriculars, and yet I was rarely bored. Yes, I watched music videos on MTV or You Can’t Do That on Television, Double Dare, and The Monkees on Nickelodeon, but I couldn’t sit for too long and just watch other folks living their lives on the screen. I would get bored. So instead, I spent most of my free time using my hands making arts and crafts, and dancing—not in a class or on a team, just on my own. 

When I fell in love with such physical wellness practices it had been a surprise to me and my loved ones. Growing up, I had little interest in team sports - my parents tested that out with a single obligatory little league season as they were keen on the idea of me trying new things. I was on the Orioles, and what I remember most fondly was admiring how the clover cushion of the outfield looked surrounding my pink velcro sneakers. I don’t recall ever looking up toward the rest of the team, or the ball I was meant to catch, but I must have. 

But not liking team sports did not mean that I did not like to move and be in my body. I loved to dance (and still do). And while I did take jazz and modern classes when I was in elementary school, what I really enjoyed and did the most was dance in the living room to our family’s record collection. Madonna’s “Like a Virgin,” Michael Jackson’s “Thriller,” or Taco’s “Puttin’ on The Ritz” were often on repeat At one end of our living room, we had what I considered my stage. I am guessing it was about a five by six foot open space without rugs or lamps or chairs. I spend hours choreographing and practicing a dance to dramatize my little kid understanding of the lyrics. I would rigorously practice, trying to perfect jazz dance moves like a kick-ball-change, or popular moves like the moonwalk. (I was better at the kick-ball-change.) As I got older I would dance in the privacy of my room to C&C Music Factory and Prince and then later to Metallica, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Nine Inch Nails, and Alanis Morisette. I always danced for me. I danced my joy, my rage, my grief. My loneliness. I did not think, “I know! I will feel better if I dance.” It was intuitive. I would recognize my urge to dance, and without self-consciousness, I would dance.  And afterwards I always felt better.

I moved alone. To music. Not in a team. But not necessarily in private. When I was little I danced whether or not people were watching—on occasion I would gather whatever adults were around and I would ask to perform for them. This is how I train now. I have a soundtrack to fit my mood - sometimes from the gym sound system but more often than not, from my own headphones. Between sets I dance to Lizzo, Beastie Boys, Missy Elliot, Depeche Mode, Sleater Kinney, Beyonce, Busta Rhymes, Eryka Badu, Lauryn Hill, The Kinks, or whatever else suits my mood on a given day. I do not care if people think it is weird. And I train, usually to the beat of the song. And afterwards I generally feel better.

All of this is to say, you can look to your childhood for clues or inspiration for things to try now that will bring you satisfaction and even wellness. While there is nothing wrong with just trying things that pique your interest, that can be daunting for some. While I don’t dance quite like I used to, I do the part that was important to me—I practiced moving my body to music.  Did you like team sports? Was your favorite place the zoo? Did you sketch clothes or do hair? Did you like working in teams? Did you like walking the winding paths of the zoo or was it studying animals? Or was it taking pictures of animals? Did you like manipulating your appearance and playing roles? Or was it helping other people feel good in their appearance? Was it a solitary practice or a group practice? 

Why? What did you like about it? That’s what’s important. By asking yourself what you gravitated toward as a kid, you are exploring what you wanted to do before all the limiting “shoulds” and social rules crept in and swayed your choices. And I have a hunch that those desires are still there, waiting to be explored.