How We Hold Ourselves
In a crowd, there is a certain kind of person I always notice.
It is not the clothes, age, height, scent of this person.
It is how this person holds her or himself.
She is drawn up to her full height, her spine allowed to do what spines were made to do: elongate, and nobly so.
It's easy to notice her. She is surrounded by folks slumped and hunched so their bodies make a question mark minus the dot.
But there is nothing to question about this woman. She holds her head up, so she faces the world. She holds her neck tall and gentle, no jutting or downward tilting.
She is surrounded by folks with their heads down in the glow of their screens, facing the world with the part in their hairline. Their necks are bent and dropped, as though the phone is the master and they are the servant.
But this woman holds herself as though she is mastered by no thing, no one.
It doesn't take money, time, special abilities to do this. It takes intention. Strong intention. Especially in a world filled with those who don't as much hold themselves as contract and contort themselves, the intention must be resilient.
And really what this person - woman or man, tall or short, young or old - that I always notice in a crowd is doing is holding herself as though she matters. Which she does. We all do. It's just so easily forgotten in our slumps and slouches.
But to think: we can begin to remind ourselves with little more than a change in posture.