When I was a kid, and TV channels were far fewer than the everything–everywhere streaming capabilities we have today, my household was fortunate enough to have HBO. The upside of the then-fledgling network was movies, movies, movies; the downside was there were very few options, so all those movies were shown on repeat (probably because movie rights are expensive). 

One of those movies was 18 Again! starring George Burns and Charlie Schlatter. This wasn’t a particularly good movie (in fact, Rotten Tomatoes gives it a 29 percent score on the Tomatometer), and it was one of a subgenre of movies in which two people switch bodies as the basis of the plot line (think Freaky Friday). What was most memorable about the movie, though, was the moment the 18-year-old character switches bodies with his 81-year-old grandfather, and the latter is thrilled with his newfound youth. He runs, jumps, and even pole vaults with glee at his ability to move freely again. 

I’m not 81, but I find a bittersweet smile comes across my face thinking about that movie and the accompanying loss of youthfulness we experience as we age. Yes, age brings sagacity, but with it a bum left knee that screams when I tweak it playing golf, climbing stairs, or moving laterally too quickly; a big toe on my right foot that I’m sure I broke several years ago when I lost my footing coming down those same stairs; and the onset of plantar fasciitis I now feel after I complete even a short run. 

Through it all, though, I continue to move because I believe, as Erik Dalton writes in his feature article “Pin, Twist, Sling, and Resist” (page 62), “Motion is lotion.” “Many clients avoid activities they love because they fear it will increase their chronic pain,” Dalton writes. 

I am quite familiar with that sentiment. Over the years, I’ve suffered a couple of injuries that sidelined me from playing golf and snowboarding—activities that I love. And instead of finding therapeutic relief from the pain—which over time transitioned into mental fear of prolonging the injury and fear of never recovering—I stopped. But if the adage motion is lotion is true, then surely the opposite must also be true: cessation is atrophy (not as catchy, I know). 

Welcome to our Movement Issue. Inside, you’ll find five features dedicated to self-care and client care, and text that reveals somatic tradition and exploration. From Ida Rolf’s “other legacy” to Moshe Feldenkrais’s brainchild, from a full-body refreshment sequence to eight techniques clients love, we think you’ll find something to learn, embrace, and tackle in your upcoming sessions.

Through thick and thin, over the years I’ve continued to move, to remain active with the hopes that I’ll feel “normal” again. I’ve come to terms with my new normal, and that’s just fine. And I’ve learned from prior experience to keep moving and to seek excellent somatic support from the many gifted hands available across the country. After all, as Feldenkrais proclaimed, “Movement is life!”  

Darren Buford

Editor-in-Chief 

darren@abmp.com