Breathing Through My Feet

This morning, I was speaking with my friend Allison DeSalvo whose music has delighted audiences of all ages for decades. Classically trained, she has performed at the opera house La Scala in Milan and for the pre-K set in child care settings. I was telling her about my next manifesting goal of offering a TEDtalk. I have been a professional speaker for more than 30 years and have only had stage fright a hand full of times; once when I presented at the Good Men Project’s Live Storytelling Event in New York City six years ago. I am working with a coach Cesar Cervantes who is helping me craft the talk and hone my presentation style. I had told him that I was concerned about projecting my voice when on stage, since, following a bout of COPD symptoms, my voice is a bit sultry and quieter than before. We will be working on strategies to make me stage-ready. When I was chatting with Allison, she asked if I had ever had vocal coaching. I have not. She had a suggestion that I have never considered…”Breathe through your feet.”  Huh?

She continued, “You are creating a channel for communication; rooted and grounded.” Most of the time, I notice that I don’t breathe deeply enough. I have done diaphragmatic breathing but I wondered, what would it mean to breathe through my lower extremities?  I imagined standing barefoot on the grass and feeling the earth’s energy rising up through me. I visualized getting my sea legs if I felt nervous and found myself swaying. I called on the spirits of the third rock from the sun to center me if I felt like I was about to take off through the ozone. What came next was the delightful view of dancing barefoot on sand, hearing the ocean wave washing ashore. I then would wiggle my toes in time to music wafting through the air. Stomping my feet on the cool floor now as I am writing this piece. Tapping the soles of my feet and then as a relaxing reward, massaging my tootsies. Of course, a pedicure would have to be part of the process.

In childhood, I didn’t have the healthiest relationship with my feet and had to visit a podiatrist since I was flat-footed and pigeon-toed. He gave me exercises to do to strengthen them and build an arch, which included walking on my tiptoes and drawing alphabet letters in the air with my feet. The worst part was having to wear clunky red orthopedic shoes when the style at the time was sneakers, moccasins, and penny loafers. They were to help with arch support. As if I didn’t feel different enough with asthma that required medical intervention. One benefit to being pigeon-toed was that it helped me excel at butterfly when I was on swim teams. Eventually, the time came when I could see a slightly more pronounced arch made with water on the pavement when I got out of the pool and then could wear whatever kind of shoes I wanted.

A few years back I was struck with a wicked case of plantar fasciitis that had me temporarily sidelined until I added just the right amount of ice, massage, exercise, stretching, and Reiki. Blessedly, it responded and I have only had a few episodes since then. I contemplate the references to feet such as ‘putting your best foot forward,’ ‘standing your ground,’ ‘taking things step by step,’ “standing on my own two feet,’ and ‘playing footsies’. I endeavor to do those things as often as possible.

Looking to bare my soul and soles as I prepare to stand on the TED stage.

And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair ― Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

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This post is republished on Medium.

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