The Dance and the Do-Si-Do

Do you remember your first love? I know I do. With spring fever in the air these days, I have been reminiscing . . .

I had the best first boyfriend a girl could have back in high school. He was smart, kind, and cute – a geek, an artist and a jock! Creative, brainy and attractive, we had some great times together. We dated for most of our junior and senior years of high school. He saw me through some rough times including my sister’s cancer diagnosis during my senior year.



It was a beautiful thing while it lasted… and heartbreaking when it ended.

That relationship served a major purpose in my life. The thing is, as with most major love-life events, when you are in the thick of them it’s hard to see them clearly. It didn’t take long after we broke up for me to find the man of my dreams at college. He was a senior when I was a freshman, and my heart just about stopped every time I saw him. My tongue tied up in knots, my face got red – the whole romantic whirlwind. Eventually I started to flirt with him, but either he didn’t get it or wasn’t interested. I never saw him with other girls on campus as he hung out mainly with a group of guys who were smart, hysterically funny, and a bit out of synch from the normal crowds.

So I chased him until he caught me. Almost a year after his graduation, after sending him a letter (this was the OLDEN days before e-mail!) he called and asked me out. He was living an hour away, but drove to the campus to pick me up to take me to a Neil Young concert for our first date. 

Alone together, I discovered he was just as wonderful as I had imagined. Our relationship was effortless, even with the ups and downs of living in separate cities. Until this last year, I would have said that was the best time of my life. I felt loved, accepted for who I was, and carefree. Life was good for those two and a half years. 

We became engaged around the time I was to graduate college. He was my forever man… or so I thought.

By the spring of my first year in the business world, exhausted from tax season and three months away from our wedding, something no longer felt right. We were out of synch on almost everything. The humor that had lightened and enriched our relationship disappeared, seemingly overnight. Just at the time when we should have been at our happiest anticipating our upcoming marriage, I felt like we were a million miles apart. Another man at work suddenly appeared very attractive to me and I thought, “Wow! Something can’t be right if I am thinking about someone else when I am getting married in a few months” so we postponed the wedding, never to reschedule it again. At the time, it was the most difficult choice I had ever made. The pain, embarrassment, and confusion were excruciating.

It has been twenty-eight years since that spring in 1986 when I knew deep inside that something was wrong. And although I still may not know all the forces that came to play into my decision, it makes sense now in ways it never could have back then.

Years after we parted company, I finally realized the truth. Neither one of us were ready for marriage, both of us having deep childhood issues we needed to address before we could bring real maturity into our relationship. But at the time, all I knew was this feeling in my gut - that nauseous feeling that wouldn't go away that something was wrong. That was a pivotal moment, listening to my body, even though there was no logical reason behind what it was telling me.

At the time we called things off, I had no idea whatsoever what might have been going on. I only knew in my gut that our relationship wasn’t right. 

Lately, I have found myself seeing my abortion and subsequent miscarriage in the same light. Both losses were traumatic. There is no question about that. At the time, I had no choice but to listen to my gut (when it came to the abortion) and ride the wave of grief as to both losses. In the thick of the all the emotional turmoil, it was impossible to see the bigger picture.

But with hindsight being 20/20, I can now see that both experiences were for my highest good. These experiences led me back to my own beginnings and where I needed to find healing, wholeness, and love. Thanks to my unborn children and the self-reflection their presence has inspired in me, I have been able to uncover my true nature and the things that truly matter beyond all the traditions and rules I was raised with as a child. It has been a rollercoaster ride, but I am finally awake, alive and free! There is no place else I would rather be. 

I wonder about all these past relationships – human and not yet embodied. Perhaps the dance and the do-si-do are all a part of our growth process. We need to practice and learn our lessons before the right “one” comes along, whether it is a partner or a child. Perhaps all these experiences which we are so apt to label as “bad” are really just part of the process.


What has been the dance of souls through your life and what have you learned? Can you imagine that your unborn children want to help you with that dance? What would they be telling you, reminding you? Will you continue to bury the secret or let the gift of the lesson they are bringing to you out into the light to be transmuted? It’s up to you. What will you choose?

 Namaste.

Zoe, A Prayer Answered

Shortly after my husband and I separated in 2007, a close friend of my son’s gave us a priceless gift – a sweet little dog named Zoe.

We had lost our black lab of fourteen years months earlier and I felt like my heart would be broken forever after her passing. My children had been bucking for a new dog for some time, but knowing more change was coming and still feeling heartbroken over the loss of our dog, Allie, I stood firmly against it. 

And then Zoe came along. 

Zoe was a Christmas gift that year to my son’s friend’s family. They had never owned a dog before and with two active boys, found it difficult to be available for Zoe as much as she needed. They were contemplating the best solution for Zoe, while my family’s life was changing dramatically. 

Although she was a gift to my son, a second grader, Zoe quickly became “my” dog, following me everywhere and leaving behind her nights in a crate for the warmth of my bed. One of her places was burrowed under the covers at the bottom of the bed. And one of her favorite things to do when she got there was to lick my feet. 

I was just a little put off by this behavior. It felt weird. It tickled. I started to put socks on at night, to stop the licking. It worked.

Six-plus years later, Zoe still wants to “clean my feet.” I have been building a daily yoga practice, and she has been on the mat every morning with me, faithfully licking my feet whenever she can. This week, in a lightbulb moment, I realized, she has been licking my feet in answer to a prayer from many years ago.

When I was a practicing Catholic, one of the annual rituals involved our parish pastor washing the feet of twelve parishioners, a “reenactment” of the last supper, where Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. For many years, I wanted to be one of those twelve chosen to have my feet washed. In the beginning, the pastor invited people to serve this role, but as the years went by he began asking for volunteers. I wanted so badly to be one of those people! And yet every time I imagined being there and having him wash my feet, I saw myself dissolving into wrenching sobs. I did not understand why, but that certainly wasn’t the experience I wanted to have in front of my fellow parishioners!

I was taught since I was old enough to remember that I was born with something called “original sin.” Every week as we prepared for Communion, we were reminded of this with the words “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the words and I shall be healed.” This teaching that I was inherently sinful, separate and unworthy, combined with my experience of choosing to have an abortion, informed my subconscious mind week after week of my unworthiness. So even when my pastor asked for volunteers, and even though in my heart I desperately wanted that healing, I did not speak. The words “I am not worthy to receive you” reverberated over and again in my head. 

For many reasons, including this one, I no longer subscribe to the traditions of the Catholic Church. But the feeling I had, that desire to receive that healing gesture, remained. Just this week my sweet little Zoe reminded of the prayer I once felt so strongly in my body — the desire to have my feet washed by Jesus. And as I look at her now, persistent in her desire to wash my feet, I realize she is answering that prayer I made so many years ago. She tells me that I am loved and worthy. And now, I am finally ready to accept and allow that into my life.

Animals have so much to teach us. I am thankful to have received one of Zoe’s lessons this week. I hope you readers of this blog are content today in knowing that you, too, are worthy and you are loved, no matter what your past. I believe Jesus lived to teach us about love and forgiveness and would be the first person to remind us all that we are inherently good.

Namaste.