Quasi-life coach likes to take radical life actions that cause others to raise their eyebrows in alarm. He shrugs off their concern in two words: Power Moves. I’ve heard him use it often: “I’m going to get my motorcycle license and buy a bike…Power Moves.” Or, “I am quitting my corporate job, selling all of my life belongings and moving west in a week…Power Moves.” (A phone call I received at 4 a.m. Mountain time). And my favorite, “I am buying a condominium and going to start a taxidermy collection…Power Moves.”
Yesterday, I traded in a syllabus requiring 100-150 pages of weekly reading, three five- page analysis papers and one final 15 page transformational praxis paper for a pair of Capoeira pants, drum lessons and an opportunity to write my novel in one month…Power Moves.
I wrestled with this decision for a week after I found out I couldn’t get into my writing mentor’s class. The first night of my Plan B class I was greeted with a quiz. The environment was academic and intense; I felt it suffocating me like smog in a fire. I actually even had an emotional reaction to my Professor as he explained his expectations for the semester. I looked around at my would-be fellow classmates, a sea of dead fish. I muttered to myself for 30 blocks until I reached my local watering hole to pick up Sir Farms-a-Lot’s weekly veggies. I ordered a whiskey and a beer feeling sorry for myself as my brain pulsated against my skull thinking that this is what the rest of my Tuesdays would be like until Christmas. I swirled my beer and in my head swirled an anecdotal story I shared earlier in the week, my own words coming back at me.
The next day I reported to student services to find a replacement class. The receptionist that greeted me was one of the dead fishes from class. She didn’t recognize me, after I re-introduced myself and asked her about class she seemed taken aback, as if I was interrogating her. Sigh. After much searching, I selected a replacement course that came highly recommended and still it didn’t feel right. That night I went to my first drum class at the museum, as I banged away on the drum having no idea what I was doing I could feel life re-entering my veins. This class made me laugh, in this class we created sound and I wanted to learn more. I walked home thinking, “What the heck am I doing? Did I really want to torture myself by taking a class this semester?” I could indeed opt out; the only one putting pressure on me was me. I then challenged myself to open my mind to all the possibilities of the fall without the obligations of academia.
The next day, on my walk to work I decided to opt out. And that by opting out I was actually winning because now I could finish off my year of self-discipline with opting in to NANOWrimo– a month long novel writing contest that asks you to write 50,000 words in 30 days. It begins in November, I’ll have a month to prepare and by December a manuscript in my hand…Power Moves.
Drum Roll Please,
A Warrior Princess