Last week, we spoke about power vs. authority—control vs. influence. This week we talk about the only thing we actually have control over and therefore, the thing we have the greatest responsibility to: our own dear selves. There are certain endeavors that serve as an allegory and training-ground for life. Climbing is one. Meditation is another. Theater, another. We contend with our internal voices and as we befriend, cajole, debate, and reframe, we are able to learn something about ourselves. There’s a saying in theater: “Theater work is life work,” meaning the things we struggle with in acting are often the things we struggle with in life. And we can learn from them. Many years ago, in rehearsal for a play at the Circle Rep Lab, I learned a profound life lesson. I was in a scene with an actor who was…difficult. He dominated, he…Read on.

My friend, Dana Ainsworth, created something called, The Wonder Club. She curates experiences to bring us back to a sense of wonder. Her events are heavily structured and developed in advance so that we are effortlessly tossed into a wild, chaotic, whimsical moment of deep connection with ourselves and with the group. That, is sway. Again, we start with structure in order to find freedom. What are the structures, the skills and techniques, we practice so that we communicate with sway in our lives? can tell you mine…Read on.

This photo illustrates everything I want to share about having sway in relationships: the four dear friends deeply connected, their arms wrapped tight, embracing, girding, protecting, and yet separate, each individual freely expresses their own, joy, mischief, exuberance. In this series we have been playing with techniques to cultivate sway in our bodies, our content, and our work. A deep grounding, like tree roots, allows for strong branches to dance with the elements. How does this principal apply to relationships? How do we create relationships that sway, adapt, change, relationships that are deeply grounded, yet responsive to the dynamic elements of life? Read on…

I am totally obsessed with the improvised swing dance competitions. The contestants are paired randomly, a song begins, and they have a minute or two to create a dance. Before the music begins, they physically connect. There is a sense of danger and play. Upon hearing the music, one of them tosses out a stylistic gesture that becomes a theme and both lead and follow using the very strict form of swing dance. They know exactly what to expect and have no idea what will happen. They have sway.

In the same way that we must be rooted in order to find sway in our bodies, we must have a structure in order to find sway in the content of our talks, agendas, and even tricky conversations.

In the post, Memorizing vs. Knowing a Talk, we looked at finding the balance between the rigid monotony that can come from memorizing and the inconsistency that can come from “winging it.” The balance is found, once more, in form and freedom. Preparation matters. Form matters. Only then, can we let go and play with abandon. Ask a professional improvisor how many years of study and hours of rehearsal have they clocked in order to become fluent enough in the form to find their sway. The form I like for most presentations and speeches is…Read on.

I vividly remember my grandmother, Kay, in the months before she died. Her lovely, papery skin, her mischievous blue eyes and bobbing brows, her long silver hair falling about her shoulders. In the mornings, she would twist it up with hairpins, slowly, but with the muscle memory of a life-time of this gesture. People would gather at her house most evenings, after an event, talking late into the night. By the end of the day, her feet had swollen terribly, so someone would hand her a finger of gin, take her feet onto their lap, slip off the binding shoes and medical stockings, and massage her precious feet. Feet that had danced with Isadora Duncan. Or, as she would correct me, “FOR Isadora Duncan. No one danced WITH Isadora.” Barefooted and briefly free of the pain and watery constraints, she would rise, her stance growing into the earth, her arms moving like soft ocean waves, and she would dance for us. Even as she stretched towards 90, walking slowly, holding tightly to an offered arm, pausing to rest at each step, my grandmother’s body had sway. To communicate with sway, we start with finding sway in our own bodies. This week:…Read on.

GLENDOWER:

“I can call spirits from the vasty deep.”

HOTSPUR:

“Why, so can I, or so can any man;

But will they come when you do call for them?”

--William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I—

Will they? Will they come when we do call for them? Will they be swayed by our words?  Will they change their minds?  Will they take action? Will they? What we say is important.  But how we say it determines its impact. How can we speak so that others will, not only listen, but will be swayed, moved, changed, by our words? My work with clients draws from the world of performance where artists have developed techniques that ground us in a clear structure, so that our work is free, present, agile, fluid, unexpected, human.  It sways.  Like a tree, deeply rooted, so that the branches are free to play with the wind, the birds, the buds, the storms, and seasons. We start by… Read on.