The other day the doctor asked how I deal with stress, do I have ways of finding relief. I assured him that while they may not be conventional I do have my ways. Wait. I take that back, some of my de-stressers are very conventional: the company of friends, writing, taking photographs, reading, watching a movie, working out, cooking, walking, fantasy. These pursuits are vital.
But when the world feels less pliant, I go dancing in on the streets sidewalks. Trust me, it works. The mode is easy enough. My wardrobe increasingly is influenced more by Mark Zuckerberg than, say, Karl Lagerfeld, so its easy to be sort of invisible. After rummaging in my son's leftovers I generally come up in a cap, hoody, vest, sweats and spiz'ikes. Add sunglasses, add Nano, add music, find some empty sidewalk, and voila.
I dream of cities where everyone dances on the sidewalks. Once upon a time--like 50 years ago--can you imagine trying to explain that one day there would be people running, in all directions, at all hours? My point.
Recently a neighbor cornered me: "Was that you I saw dancing down the sidewalk early yesterday morning?" I was embarrassed. Caught. I owned up, went home, made a dub of the mix and slipped it in his mail slot.