Sure Footedness

Rock hopping comes naturally to most children. As a young child, I somehow always found a path that required a certain sure-footedness. One such path was a narrow little retainer wall which ran along the front of a neighbour's hedge becoming higher as the road and sidewalk ran down to join the main road which ran through the city. The little adventurer in me had worked out that I could jump onto the little wall where it started at only about a foot off the ground and run all the way around the border of the house, jumping over the gap where the gate and steps met and continue along as the wall got higher to the corner, which at about 3 metres, was the highest point of the wall which ran around the large property. It then levelled out as it continued around the corner and I could jump off at the other end where it was only about one metre off the ground. Why I did this, I never really understood when running down the sidewalk would have been much safer and much easier. 

The ability to hop from one foot to the other is a vital part of the growth and development of toddlers and encouraging children to hop builds strength and co-ordination thereby developing gross motor skills. 

It's only fairly recently that I've started realising that I don't seem as sure-footed as I assumed I was. Spending quite a bit of time on beaches and rock hopping, even as a now 50-something, ballet teacher (oh, ok, I'm nearer 60) I've noticed I favour the safer options when rock hopping, like picking out the flatter rocks or sitting on a rock before tentatively traversing to the next by first testing the stability of the rock onto which I intend transferring my weight. Perhaps my dodgy knees, casualties of many years of dancing, running, horse riding and every other kind of abuse are in collaboration with my vision, which is often slightly blurred by what "they" call "floaters" or PVD, which is not as serious as it sounds, just another little sign of ageing. 

So, gradually one loses ones sense of centre, one feels less secure when negotiating precarious pathways or rocks or uneven surfaces and one is confronted with a sense of the loss of something which seemed to have been there one day and then was suddenly gone the next.

Sure-footedness. There seems to me to be so many different aspects to this strange word. Having been a dancer and then a dance teacher for many years, sure-footedness is something one can easily take for granted if you've always been able to balance on one foot, or easily change feet, or transfer your weight as we say in the dance business. But what does it mean to be able to transfer your weight? How quickly should one be able to "shift" your weight, your consciousness, your mind set? This has been a bit of a focus of mine for a few years and it still amazes me how easily one can get stuck in a particular place or head space with no idea of how to "shift" to a new space because of the uncertainty it brings. 

It sounds so easy to say, "Just do it" and maybe for some, it is easier than for others. There are of course, tools which one can use; existing skills one can tap into; maybe some long tried and tested method when one needs to make any kind of mind shift. Some don't give it much though but just do it. Some agonise long and hard and often transfer part of themselves but are not able to move entirely into the new space, hankering after old memories, old habits, old friends, old smells and experiences. 

So we get onto the narrow wall. We wobble much more than we used to, but as we focus, as we eliminate the other distractions, the old sure-footedness returns, the rhythm returns, we centre ourselves and we balance. We find the balance we thought we would never find. We wobble, but we balance and we shout out to the world!

"Look! I'm doing it! I'm standing on my own! 

And as we look around, we can see as far as the mountains; we can see the stars so clearly; we can breathe again and smell the earth again and feel the rocks beneath our feet and the fear of stumbling, while still there, doesn't seem to be so intense