Movement, a New Domestic Ritual
To the beautiful people who
moves with me.
During the first Coronavirus lockdown, I spent long hours on the public rooftop of my building. Sunbathing, walking, reading, exercising, working, finding focus, thinking, looking for perspective, crying, dreaming, scanning memories, calling family and friends, drinking a glass of wine while watching the stars on a clear summer night, writing, watching movies on my laptop… Particularly, I spent a lot of time observing the view around me: the empty streets of London, the quiet railways, the people exercising in Shoreditch Park and the flats around me.
One of these buildings stands out. It is a short chunky black block with six big windows, two per floor. Each row of windows belongs to the same flat, the living room and the kitchen. None of the flats has blinds. The building stands alone with no other construction blocking my sight. Hence, during the months of global standstill I had an unorthodox window into the life of these strangers. I was not spying on them. They were part of my scenery during my hours of reflection on the roof. At a self-imposed short glimpse to respect their privacy, I could briefly observe them watching TV, working, cooking, doing laundry, eating or even hugging their partners.
Surrounded by an empty city, theirs was the only reminder of how people move and live in real life, without the filter of a screen or a Zoom video call. In a strange way, these distant neighbours kept me company and reminded me that life inside of ourselves remained safe. Our homes had become the refuge of our soul despite how many of our valuable routines the lockdown had taken away from us.
Having my morning coffee with my Grandam’s cup in the roof.
A few months after I arrived in London, someone reminded me of something very important: the big impact that the people we come across can have on our lives; and how much we can influence theirs at the same time. In some cases, small interactions can be so powerful that we can fully alter our respective life courses.
At the time, I had only met a small group of people in London. How our relationship would develop over time was still an enigma. I was slowly building a social life, pursuing my entrepreneurial journey and growing a career as a movement and fitness instructor in London. Surrounded by new people every day, teaching in studios across the city and gradually becoming part of a community of movers, including my clients and other movement instructors.
Our homes are witness to endless domestic rituals created by our imagination. They represent our worldview and how we share this space with ourselves and the rest of our household. Our homes are also the place in which we set our inner self free, thanks to the intimacy that a home is able to provide.
During the many years that I have been living abroad, my home has become my sacred temple. I moved flats and countries a few times. Each time I entered a new flat I created a home that represented my origin. A space that will evoke memories, a monument to the beauty of the present moment and my life experiences. My home is a platform from where I am able to materialise new futures using my imagination and my essence as a human being.
Our past, present and future are crucial ingredients to follow our dreams and pursue sustainable livelihoods that are akin to who we are and mindful to everything around us.
With the lockdown, the boundary between the personal and public sides of our being was blurred. Everything that used to be part of our public life and our life with others was now happening inside this intimate space we call home. With video calls being our only window to the outside world we had been forced to leave behind, our inner self got even more isolated and detached.
Movement is strictly linked to our inner world and our external world. Our bodies are the homes of who we are. When we move from within our bodies, we are directly building a link between our self and our surroundings, including the other. We feel, sense and interact with everything that is outside the boundary of our deepest intimacy through movement. How we move is a representation of who we are. Movement is a visualisation of our imagination. Through movement we feel and think about the world and everything around us.
When they locked us down, I briefly thought much of what I had built in London was gone. That moving, breathing, sweating and being inspired by others will no longer be part of my life. I was scared of the possibility that all the hard work of building that community from scratch in just two years was lost. I was wrong.
Often, my clients tell me how much they appreciate the support they are getting from me and the energy I share with them during our weekly workout sessions. I am thankful for their beautiful words and kindness. However, I owe them my sanity. Without them, I would have faced months of solitude in my home figuring out ways to pivot my entrepreneurial journey to embrace the new livelihoods the pandemic is imposing on us.
Together, we transitioned to a new online movement routine. With this new domestic ritual channelled through the wisdom of our bodies they let me into their homes and I let them into mine.