For the last six months or so, I’ve been taking yoga classes at a studio called Red Yoga. The reason it’s called “red” is because the studio uses infrared heat that’s supposed to relieve pain, improve flexibility, and detoxify the body. Every time I walk into the studio, I am reminded of that stupid, evil witch in Hansel and Gretel who got into her own oven. What menopausal woman would think walking into someplace hotter than what she experiences on an hourly basis is a great idea? I am a walking fireball. I am infrared personified. But I go and the classes are brutal in a way that makes me remember I am still alive and capable.

One class that has become my favorite class of all is a Steel Mace class. It’s like yoga/tai chi with an 8-10lb steel pole that you hold and move around your body like it’s a feather. The instructor looks like a warrior. I think he might actually be one, but he’s the kind that is good and wants everyone on his team. He’s also my age, which is inspiring. The owner of Red Yoga also takes the class and he is probably closer to my parents’ age, and if God could send Gabriel my way to let me know it is His will I have arms like this guy’s in my elderly years, I would absolutely quote Mary and say, “How can this be?” and in the next breath say, “May it be so.” Another participant is a woman who is my age. She is all grace and strength and beauty and I do all that I can to practice the moves just like her.

Red Yoga is located in downtown Ann Arbor, about a 25 second walk from the University of Michigan. The area swarms with young adults who know they’re brilliant and in their prime. My daughter Hadley is one of them. They show up to Red Yoga classes and their presence is humbling, but it’s Mr. Warrior, Old Man Popeye Yogi, and Mama Wonder Woman, plus other people who continue to show up and try to improve themselves who show me there’s strength to obtain - courage to reach for - past 23.

At my first Steel Mace class, the instructor said that he was going to record the routine we’d been working on and we were all welcome to stick around. No way was I going to do that. It would be the equivalent of asking a Kindergartener who is just learning how to make the “sh” and “th” sounds to read War and Peace interpretatively and with feeling to a crowd of one-thousand. Sure, I felt empowered and strong during class, but it is one thing to feel empowered and strong. It is another thing to see it alive and fumbling around like Frankenstein’s monster.

So the class ended and I rolled up my mat and headed for the door. The instructor walked me out, telling me I did a good job and he thanked me for coming. I told him I love the class and that I’d be back next week, but I wasn’t ready to record.

He didn’t say, “I totally understand,” or “No worries. You’ll get it, just keep coming.” He opened the door for me and said, “You belong here.”

The next week, and all the weeks following, I stayed to record; his words, “You belong here,” running over me along with the sweat from the infrared lights - a baptism of sorts - a decision to stay and the consequence of staying.

It occurred to me that he said I belonged not because I was good or strong enough to be recorded. I belonged because I put in the work. He was recording because he wanted me, and all the others, to see that work.

I was not the evil stupid witch in Hansel and Gretel. I was the one who refused to give up, who believed - ever so slightly - that there was more to me than what I’ve already given away. I was on fire, but I refused to burn.

At the time, I was a couple of months away from turning 50, and more than any other phase of my life this stage has been a time of relentless reckoning and unraveling. I was tired of constantly proving myself to the world (and honestly, to myself), tired of being a “yes girl” and fitting myself into everyone else’s expectations and definitions. I came to love showing my work in progress and that gave me an idea to record 50 dance routines before I turned 50. (I am a Shine Dance Fitness instructor and I lead classes in dance routines that make us all feel like we’re back to our club hoppin’ days.)

The idea showed up in August, when there was ample time to record 50 routines before December 6. I surrounded myself with a lot of buts though:

But I don’t know how to record and edit
But I can’t figure out the right angle
But the lighting in my house is all wrong
But I am ugly
But I am old
But my butt is too big

I talked myself out of it; decided it was a dumb idea, and that was that. One day though, a few days before November, I watched a behind the scenes IG reel of a woman who posts her outfits on a daily basis. Her video showed her pushing furniture out of the way and setting up her phone on top of books and boxes. It showed her making mistakes and trying again.

“I can do all that,” I thought (most of all, I can make mistakes - I’m a pro). That 30 second clip was all it took.

I recorded early in the morning after a workout. On the days I worked from home, I would lay out five workout outfits and record five different routines between teaching my online classes. Canva was my BFF tech tool and I learned to cut and even merge my routines. I made a poster of all the dances I planned to do and after I completed each one I moved the sticky notes to the other side of the paper.

At one point, a friend of mine told me she was enjoying my videos. “But there’s just one problem,” she began, and told me that I have more dances to record than there are days left until my birthday.

“Well, I’m not all that fantastic at math,” I joked and then told her I’d post more than one on the same days to make up the difference.

But the truth of it is, there will always be just one problem when we set out to pursue anything. More times than not, there will be many problems. Trying is frustrating. Not trying though, is boring.

What is it that sounds a little scary and a lot of fun? Sharing your OOTD? Singing songs and sharing them for 50 days? Painting? Knitting? Baking? Make a plan, come up with a number that feels a tad challenging but doable. Make a list of your ideas (create a poster with sticky notes if you want). Then, go for it. I suggest doing something that is not writing because it’s been my experience that exercising another type of creativity boosts our writing perseverance and capability.

C’mon, witches. Show your work. You belong here.

***

To see some of my dance videos, check out my Instagram page.