Blog Archives

Clarity - Day 15

2/27/2026

Heat

People talk about love at first sight. I’ve never heard anyone else talk about love at first touch.

When Dave Marcus and I met, we were at a weeklong gathering of dancers and musicians. I heard his laugh ring out across the dining hall the first night and looked up. A big guy with a huge smile and cowboy boots was holding court at a table. “Nah,” I thought. Not my type.

A few days later he asked me to dance. Looking into his eyes was mesmerizing, but I do like to flirt with my dance partners and that wasn’t that unusual. It was after. As we left the floor, he put his arm around me, and it was like it had always been there. Heat pulsed between our bodies. The sensation was beyond description. In what I can only explain as a past life experience, we turned and greeted each other as old friends do. Five minutes later, I was still trying to process what had happened. I was intrigued. So was Dave.

A few months later, he flew up to visit me unexpectedly in Philadelphia. Seeing him again for the first time since that week with only a few hours of notice made me very nervous. I had no idea what was ahead of me, but I knew it was going to be something big. Something that mattered in a way I had never known before.

He came down the ramp to where I was waiting, on the outside of security. Dave hugged me tightly, and he describes the moment as feeling my heart beat wildly, like a small bird. I felt it too and had absolutely no control over it. He held me tighter to calm me down. Best feeling in the world. I was where I belonged.

A homeless man was sitting on a bench on the side of the ramp. Neither one of us can remember exactly what he said any more, but he asked us if we were married. When we said no, he said something like “You will be.” We exchanged a few words, and he blessed us as we went on our way. Angels are everywhere, if you pay attention.

Early on in our relationship, before either of us had studied energy work in any official way, Dave used to enjoy putting his hand on my thigh while I was driving – just to play with the heat it produced. Eventually I would have to ask him to stop, as it felt like he was burning a hole in my leg. It was odd and wonderful and a little scary all at the same time.

None of this has ever really stopped – through our trainings we have learned how to control it until we really want to use that energy in our hands.

I feel blessed to get to spend the rest of my life with someone with whom I’m so deeply connected – defying time, space and quantum physics on a daily basis.

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Clarity - Day 14

2/26/2026

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Love Song to the Light

I live in the woods, and despite the yearly similarity of seasons and weather, the daily view I see out my window or off my deck is never quite the same. On a rainy winter morning like this, the sky is light grey. The deep browns of the tree trunks mute to dark greys. Even the evergreens become a soft grey. The lighter grey mist provides a contrast, and yet the forest floor stands in glorious, rusty brown contrast – as if to say, “here’s the ground.”

The light out here never ceases to fascinate me. It plays with creating shadows of trunks in the winter. In the summer, the deep leaf cover is sometimes penetrated by single shafts of light, illuminating a spot on the ground while all else is in shadow. I understand the idea of finding a pot of gold in these moments. I want to throw on my shoes, grab a shovel, enter the golden light and find out why this spot is illuminated, just for me.

Oh, and sunset. We don’t get to see much of the sunset itself, here in the woods. Vista, a huge panorama of earth and sky, is what we lack. But what we have is just magical. As the light angles lower, it becomes gold, then orange, and then even takes on the reflected pinks from the clouds. It illuminates sections of the canopy in brilliance. This is my favorite time of day.

Just before the sun sets, only the tops of the trees are illuminated, washed in golden light against the darkening sky. And then, it’s dusk.

If I pay attention, notice, become part of this environment, it never ceases to fill me with awe. It’s in these times I get clarity on what matters, what’s important, what is timeless.
It’s not senseless humans, running around, getting triggered at the slightest insult.
It’s not hate. Or war. Or arbitrary divisions.

It’s love. It’s connection – oneness, even - with the whole.

More and more I believe this is the reason I am here.

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February 26th, 2026

2/26/2026

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Clarity - Day 13

2/25/2026

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Letting Go

When I look back on my life, it seems most of it has been a push and pull between what I really want – a meaningful career, a lasting relationship, true happiness, choices that feed my soul – and what someone else wants for me.

Early on that someone was my parents, particularly my mother, who had definitive opinions on who and what I should be. More than anything, I believe now that she wanted me to be financially comfortable. “You can be a lawyer who plays the piano!” she said, often.

Perhaps it was the opening of career horizons to women in the 1970s that was influencing her – I had career possibilities that didn’t exist for my mother and all of that was very exciting. So, my personal choice to be a lowly teacher of elementary music was a huge disappointment to her. After all, women had held those kinds of jobs for many generations. She wanted more for me. I wanted something fulfilling and rewarding - and with the ignorance of the young, who cared about money?

Later there were people – mentors, friends, colleagues – who wanted me to pursue a full professorship. I observed my friends in that job and the stress they were under for no more money than I was making teaching elementary school. Publishing. Worrying about tenure reviews. Backbiting in their departments. No thank you. My compromise was to become an adjunct – again, low pay, no job security.  But so rewarding to go in, teach my classes, help younger teachers, turn in my grades and go home. I loved it dearly.

Always, always, people expected more from me. “Publish a book!” they said. I guess I projected an air of confidence. Or something. But each time I really thought about adding more, doing more, achieving more in whatever field I was interested in at the time, I just said no. I know there were regrets along the way for opportunities not taken – seeing colleagues from grad school having highly successful careers, in demand all over the US for speaking engagements  and prestigious workshops to music teachers, could make me feel jealous. And yet, I had a family. A life outside of music teaching. A community I loved.

At this age, do I regret the choices I made? Not at all. I was already too busy for much of my adult working life. All I ever wanted was time – time for family, for listening, for being in nature, for learning about all manner of things. And now I have that.

It’s actually a little weird. There is no one now (except the voices in my head) to suggest that I do more – only a beloved spouse who still urges me to do less. Financially, we're comfortable. Working is optional.

I’ve spent the last 3 years letting go – this is the last year of running my own piano studio. Next year I will only teach in a private school one afternoon a week.

I have no more committee responsibilities, no more Boards, national or local.

From the time I quit full time teaching, I began turning my search, my lifelong-learning desires, into deeper things. Starting with Alexander Techinque, I’ve continued to peel those layers back slowly and carefully. Now, I stand exposed, fully accepting of exactly who I am.

It’s time for myself, for expansiveness, for additional clarity on what fulfills the Real Me.
I might write that book. I might not.

Right now, the whole world is open. I stand looking out at it from the top of a mountain.

The way down is up to me.

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Clarity - Day 12

2/24/2026

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And I Was

photo credit, Doug Plummer

I live my life surrounded by music.

I spend time doing it every single day. I play piano, I sing, I teach, I practice, I perform.
I’ve spent a lot of time wondering in the last year or two if making music still brings me joy. Often (and I know this breaks my husband’s heart) the answer is “it’s just work.”

Dave would like it a lot if I, his bandmate, loved to practice and dig in and analyze and find new angles on the same old tunes as much as he does. He’d love it if I really explored the new tunes he writes. Time for music in his life is his joy. He can’t understand why it’s not mine. I hate disappointing him.

Except…
Been there, done that.
For about 60 years.

When I think about retiring, I think about silence –
the only music from the wind, the water and the birds.

Except…
The music that brings me joy is that I haven’t tried to play, haven’t dug into, have kept as a guilty unprofessional pleasure out in my car. The stuff I quickly turn off when someone else gets in for a ride. Pure ear candy. Pure listening joy. No chord analysis. (Well, there was once when I used Psycho Killer to teach I, IV and V chords. But that was a long time ago when teens could relate to that.)

Music from the Prog Rock Era through the early New Wave.

Bring on the Genesis, the Peter Gabriel, the Police, the Pretenders, the Joe Jackson, the Talking Heads. Now we’re talking, indeed. Smile on my face, singing at the top of my lungs in the car where no one can hear me. I still know every word.

And if I narrow it down even more, the song that makes me happy every single time I hear it, that defines what I’ve always wanted out of life? And She Was by the Talking Heads.

"And She Was"
And she was lying in the grass
She could hear the highway breathing
And she could see a nearby factory
She’s making sure that she’s not dreaming
See the lights of a neighbor's house
Now she’s starting to rise
Take a minute to concentrate
And she opens up her eyes….
The world was moving, she was right there with it
and she was
The world was moving, she was floating above it
And she was
And she was drifting through the backyard
And she was taking off her dress
And she was moving very slowly
Rising up about the earth
Moving into the universe
And she's drifting this way and that
Not touching the ground at all
And she's up above the yard
She was glad about it, no doubt about it
She isn't sure about what she's done
No time to think about what to tell them
No time to think about what she's done
And she was
And she was looking at herself
And things were looking like a movie
She had a pleasant elevation
She's moving out in all directions, oh, oh, oh
The world was moving, she was right there with it
And she was
The world was moving, she was floating above it
And she was
Joining the world of missing persons
And she was
Missing enough to feel all right
And she was
And she was.

David Byrne, take me away.

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Day 11 - Clarity

2/23/2026

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Beholding

I don’t put my hands on anyone as an Alexander Teacher without stopping to ask for permission first. In today’s world, it’s what you do. I’ve been doing it longer than that, however. There are certain people who, when I meet them in the context of a group Alexander workshop, make me wonder why they are there by their posture, their body language, their inability to look at me.

I’ve learned over the years that while I might assume the answer would be “no, please don’t touch me,” that that is not always the case. Asking is very important.

When I put my hands on someone, I am asking for a connection. It’s a deep connection, because my hands are asking that person to let me tap into their nervous system, to let me sense how they move into releasing tension, to meld my hands so that the touch is barely noticeable as to where I end and they begin. It’s vitally important that there be at least a sense of trust that I will do no harm.

My professional organization has, in plain English, an Ethical Code so that lines are not crossed in this kind of connection. There’s more to it, but here’s the Alexander Technique International (ATI) statement and the pertinent sections to what I’m talking about:

This Code of Ethics sets forth ethical principles for Alexander Technique Teachers. The public has the right to expect that all ATI Teaching Members are properly evaluated and qualified to teach the F.M. Alexander Technique. ATI Members act in a constructive, non-sectarian, non- discriminatory manner with colleagues, associates, students, and the public. Alexander Technique Teachers respect the fundamental rights and dignity of all people.

1. THE TEACHER–STUDENT RELATIONSHIP
1.1 It is the responsibility of the Alexander Technique Teacher to maintain a professional attitude throughout the period of time during which the Alexander Technique Teacher/student are working together.

1.2 An Alexander Technique Teacher does not use their authority for personal gain, whether that gain be cultural, emotional, political or religious in nature. An Alexander Technique Teacher does not enter into a sexual relationship with a student.

If I suspect that a person may have been abused in some way, I know that I have to be extra careful not to even approach that line in the sand. My goal is for everyone who enters my studio to feel safe, cared for, met where they are - seen.

When a person says “yes” to my putting my hands on, and I sense immediately that there is trauma involved, I draw in a deep breath, ground myself, and as much as possible, remove myself and my preconceptions about anything before I lift my hands.

As I touch someone, my hands ask a gentle question – what is the way in? Time after time, the answer with someone like this in the immediate moment is “There is no way in.” Patience is required. Just hanging out. Just us. You don’t feel anything? No worries.

I’m hoping for the slightest bit of letting go of tension in the neck or shoulders. I’m hoping I get to see them breathe. I’m sending them ground, and support, and freedom that comes from my body into theirs.

If I succeed, they might cry. They might soften for a second and then tense right back up. A succession of “maybes” and things to try runs through my head, because I want to help them. I remind myself to stay present, to pause, to observe. It’s not my job to fix them.

The difference between my teaching now and 20 years ago, when I qualified, is profound. I now understand there is no rush, nothing to solve. Even when I feel pushed away, refused, disconnected – that’s ok.

Sometimes just being with a person is enough.

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Clarity - Day 10

2/22/2026

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Warning Signs

An overwhelming feel of existential dread grips me. I feel my body tightening, my feet leaving the ground, such that there is. I clutch the wheel tightly.

I am on a bridge. A long bridge. Usually over troubled water, real or metaphorical. It doesn’t matter where it is, but it generally has two features that immediately put me into a fear state:

It goes up, and it goes down (all bridges do…) but it involves a curve. A highway exit overpass can do the same thing to me if it’s high enough and I can see down.
There’s a high wind warning sign. Seeing that is enough to make me stop the car.

Where in the world did this fear come from? I have no idea, honestly. My mother hated winding mountain roads, so do I, so does my daughter. But there, I’m ok if I’m driving the car. I’m on the ground while it’s twisting and turning. Not great, but it doesn’t produce that “OHMYGODWEAREALLGOINGTODIE” gut reaction that high twisty bridges do.

I think the worst I’ve ever felt was coming down from the Toronto area into Niagara Falls on the Canadian side. For miles, the road becomes a series of bridges over the Niagara River, its tributaries and wetlands. There’s a lot of wind currents off both Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, because you are sandwiched between them on a peninsula. I was warned. That sign again.

Driving up the first leg of the bridge, a wind gust hit the car, lurching us sideways. I felt sick.
Fortunately, I was in the car surrounded by other Alexander Teachers visiting from all over the world. I was taking them (post-conference) to see Niagara Falls. At least, at this point in my life, I know how to ask for help.

“Please,” I said, “could someone put hands on me? I am not grounded and I feel terrified.” With that, I felt 4 pairs on hands on my shoulders, my back, my arms. And yes, I was in the driver’s seat. My dear German friend was in the seat next to me, and she talked me through a driving meditation of sensing my sit bones on the seat, connecting me to the floor of the car, to the tires, to the roadbed, to the giant concrete posts supporting the highway, to the ground deep under the water. Phew.

Four or five miles and an eternity later, we were off the series of bridges. Alive. Even me.
I now use that meditation every time I approach a bridge. I have found if I can get clarity on where the ground is before I start going up, it’s easier.

Just near my house, on the highway I use daily, three years of construction on a new flyover to get south of here is nearing completion. I get chills just looking up at it. It’s at least 100 feet off the ground at its highest point. And it has (get this) an S curve. I just don’t know. I suspect with the high walls that don’t let you look down that I’ll be fine.

This video shows both new flyovers. The scary one, not completed, is on the right, and is higher up than the one in green.

I wish I hadn’t had 3 years to think about it.

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Day 9 - Clarity

2/19/2026

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Strawberries

“Not like that, like this.”

The sickly-sweet smell of strawberries, grease and sugar perfume the air.

Regina takes the tip of her little paring knife, a groove for her finger worn into the top, and shows me yet again how to hull a strawberry. Quickly, sharply and precisely, she removes the green leaves and the white part just underneath them from the top of the strawberry, taking none of the red with her, making the hole as tiny as possible.

I take my knife and slowly try to imitate her movements. It’s no use, I’ve got the tiniest bit of red on the hull as I remove it from the knife. I know that I’m going to get a good tongue lashing – but seriously, this is the best I can do. And I’m so slow.

A few months into my first job working as a “bakery girl” in the local German Bakery, I have quickly learned this is not what I want to do for the rest of my life. Washing greasy baking sheets in the hottest possible water, with no soap to assist in getting the stuck-on stuff (or the finish) off the pans. Standing for 8-hour shifts – the bakers did, they expected no less from their girls. Waiting politely on customers for hours on a Saturday or Sunday morning. If there were no customers, wash the glass on the cases. “Make sure that you leave no streaks, now.”

Hulling strawberries was a relative privilege. It was the only time Regina ever sat down, perching herself on a stool. We stood next to her.

The need for perfection was to create the strawberries that sat on top of the tarts Klaus made. The biggest, most beautiful strawberries needed to stay that way – without any giant holes disfiguring them. I appreciated the detail (maybe even more now than then) but the work to get it “right” eluded me the entire year and a half that I worked there.

I knew that if Regina called me over to help her hull strawberries that it was because she was angry. At something. And she was going to take it out on me. This was a different twist on expecting me to be perfect than what I was used to at home. It felt dark, uncomfortable, not for my benefit. I hated being the baker’s scapegoat.

After I got my driver’s license, I quit that job and moved on to working for the town florist. She was demanding as well, but I knew I was loved and appreciated there.

To this day, when I hull strawberries (and yes, I can do it perfectly now) I hear Regina’s stern voice in my ear. “No! Do it this way.”

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Day 8 - Clarity

2/18/2026

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Seeing Clearly

When I trace in my body where my need for perfection lies, I realize it’s in my eyes. It’s always been in my eyes. I need to see clearly. Perfectly, even.

As a little girl, when my vision first started getting a bit fuzzy and I needed glasses to see the blackboard clearly (age 6? 7?) I remember the optometrist saying to my mother “Now, don’t let her wear those glasses all the time or she’ll need them all the time. She should just wear them to look at the board. Her vision is better than perfect with them on.” He might as well have told me not to open a banned book. Or not to put beans up my nose.

I loved seeing perfectly. Still do.

Post-cataract surgery has been kind of a nightmare, leaving me with perfect distance vision and the inability to see clearly up close. Readers correct the close stuff. From 5-10 feet is consistently blurry. “That’s no man’s land,” said the Ophthalmologist recently. “Don’t expect to see well there.”

Not ok. Not what you said initially. I’m frustrated. It might be the truth, but I sure didn't want to hear it. Or see it.

During therapy, I realized my underlying perfectionism manifested in having everything look perfect for everyone else. My house, for company. My table at a holiday dinner. My writing. My music. And, most of all, my first marriage.

People have asked me why I stayed with him for so long. How was it possible for me not to see what was going on? How could I rationalize his destructive behavior? These are reasonable questions that left me with deep seated shame.

There are a lot of parallels that can be drawn with the state of our country today. How is it possible not to see what is going on? How can we rationalize the destruction of everything we hold dear as a democracy?

Here’s your answer:
You can work really hard at making things look perfect to the outside world. Enablers of narcissists fawn, pretending nothing is wrong, shielding the narcissist from hearing the truth to prevent yet another explosion. Inside, they’re crumbling under the strain of the illusion.

We are seeing these people struggle publicly every day now, on podiums, on talk shows, in the papers.

Knowing and accepting the truth about someone means throwing away your own preconceived notions of perfection. With a narcissist, it means understanding and admitting that things aren’t how they seem on the outside. It means not believing the stories that you’ve told yourself to carry on.

So next time you wonder why someone stays with a toxic spouse, or parent, or boss, and continues to try so hard to live a “perfect” life, this is why. Likewise, sycophants of charismatic leaders tend to stick around, even as the lies pile up.

Seeing clearly is simply too painful.

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Day 7 - Clarity

2/17/2026

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Preoccupations of a Body Sleuth

Back in 2023, I dedicated the bulk of a writing series, “Slow Forward,” to processing my total knee replacement. The story of my surgery and recovery is peppered throughout that series, but I describe the lead up and the surgery/recovery starting in Day 9

During the months after my total knee replacement surgery in 2022, I dedicated myself to recovery. PT every day, in the studio or at home. Walking daily. Massaging my scar. And, eventually, back to the gym and finally to dancing.

The first full dance I attended was 5 months after my surgery, and I was amazed to be able to dance mostly without pain. I fell into a pattern – go to a dance event and then dance one, sit one out. I did this as often as I could that spring of 2023, which was not a lot of often as I am one of the main dance musicians here in town and I’m more likely to be found behind the piano than on the dance floor.

I was working up to a full week of dancing that Dave and I had signed up for during August of that year. We were travelling to Pinewoods Camp, located on the lakes outside of Plymouth, Massachusetts, one of my favorite places in the world. First, we had to drive there over the course of several long days in the fully packed car. That was a challenge in itself. When the dancing started, we’d be potentially going from morning until night – doing as much or as little dancing as felt appropriate for me.

Dave grinning like the Cheshire Cat in front of our car packed for a 2 week trip north,

The main issue with the new knee was the swelling, which I could control with compression socks and wraps. Travel was the worst for that, and standing for long periods of time was a close second. I was concerned about my stamina.

I told you yesterday that I’m a self-certified Body Sleuth. Nothing prepared me for what was going to happen during my first workshop at Pinewoods.

The dancers at this camp, who come from all over the US, are uniformly at a high level of skill. People who are willing to travel far for this experience are generally the best dancers in their own communities, who are looking for a peak experience dance vacation.

The teaching was fast. The music was faster than we play at home. I was prepared for that.

During the dance, however, I discovered that a vital connection between my brain and my knee had not quite been restored yet. Knee replacement involves cutting through the nerves that run across the front of the knee, which is partly why the darn recovery is so painful. No one told me about those regenerated nerves needing to “connect back up.”
The dance leader would say “go right”, my brain would process that instantaneously, and then, there was a 1-2 second delay between that thought and the movement in my knee. I remember consciously standing there thinking “why am I not moving?” It was the oddest thing.

In the past I’ve also written about proprioception, the body’s ability to sense through an object. In this case, the object was me. Why was there an impenetrable block of wood somewhere between my brain and my ability to move my knee at speed?
It was a fascinating week, watching my body re-learn that connection. I found myself dancing at every opportunity, and doing a little less dance-one, sit-one out.

By the time that beautiful week of learning, fellowship and dance was over, I was back. Nerve pathway restored. I smiled broadly all day long on the day it happened.

I sometimes wonder if I weren’t a dancer or an athlete, would I have even noticed my nerves not firing up to speed?

These are the sorts of things that certified Body Sleuths spend their time pondering.

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Robbin Marcus

An occasional post from me, about stuff that interests me.

2025 blog series:
Cleaning Out the Old

2024 blog selections: Resistance

2023 blog series:
Slow Forward

2020 blog series:
1) Processing - Experience, Thought, Action
2) Diving for Light - Shedding light on a dark time

Heat

​Love Song to the Light

Letting Go

And I Was

Beholding

Warning Signs

Strawberries

Seeing Clearly

Preoccupations of a Body Sleuth

Robbin Marcus

2019 blog series: Exploring the Power of Habit

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Love Song to the Light

2019 blog series:
Exploring the Power of Habit