I got to see my own heart today. It was officially noted as ‘atypical,’ but already knew that - for different, non-medical reasons, but I knew it nonetheless. Even still, I’m not an alarmist and see no need to dive into details that I don’t even have yet. With my wonky endocrine system, my body rarely passes a test, and I’m still kicking, so by the time I get to bed, the rest of whatever happens today will likely have pushed the EKG out of my head, and I won’t think about it again until I get the doc’s follow-up text reminder.

Anyway, I watched my own heart beat today. Mesmerized by its near-metronomic quality, I lay there for several moments before the tech broke the rhythm with an update. This felt like permission to speak, so I began to pepper her with questions about what was on the screen. Each answer fascinating me more than the previous, I finally ended the rapid fire round with a “no wonder you do this.” Honestly, I don’t recall all the specs she rattled off about my atypical heart, but her reply will never leave. “Oh, yes. I love the heart. It moves. Everything else is just there, but the heart moves without having to think about it. Naturally.”

“With fluidity. Like a dance,” I say.

Like yoga, I think.

She watched my heart with the same fascinated eyes I watch my students. They’re moving to the beat of their breath, and there’s a softness about their strength. They embody the quality of the heart - atypical rhythms and all - and transition from thinking to just moving. Naturally. With fluidity. Like a dance.