One of my favorite activities is dancing. I interpret that in the broadest way possible, from tapping with my foot on the table while music is playing, to mimicking the moves of over-the-top entertainers. In between, there is going to places with live music or DJ sets (preferably during the day, outside, in the sun) and having enough space to get carried by the rhythm, and express myself as freely as possible.
This freedom is however influenced by all sorts of things: the music, the “crowd”, the location, the space available and, last but not least, myself.
Dance like nobody is watching, right? That’s our measure of total freedom, immersing ourselves into the moment to the point of forgetting we’re surrounded by others. To the point it becomes irrelevant whether someone else is there or not.
Yet, being alone brings a different looseness, which costs a lot more when there are other people around.
Let’s imagine these people are facing the other way, or blind, or so far you cannot see them — which means they cannot see you — would it still matter they’re around?
How remote does the presence of the Other have to be for us to feel it’s just us?
Is there perhaps some Other inside of us as well? Some non-integrated insider, who’s there to witness and report?
How much Otherness do we bring to a private room where no Other is present, and how much privateness are we able to export to a public place? Can you feel the eyes of someone else on you even when you’re not looking?
Our skin barely separates us from our surroundings, it barely shields us from their eyes, but we often find out behind theirs there’s ours. It’s us looking, it’s us making the judgement, attaching the label.
Others might see us dance, they might even notice us, but we are the ones who finish the sentence “I look like…”. It doesn’t matter how obvious we think it is, that big flaw, that huge catalyst of attention, it’s something we have learned to pay attention to, and most people don’t see.
When having sessions online it’s important to have a private space. This means different things to different clients, but I’ve noticed throughout the years that even with someone in the other room, with the door closed, even knowing they are watching TV or have headphones on, impacts the quality of our conversation in a specific way: they feel less private.
The Other is not watching, is not listening, but the idea that they are here, close by, makes our eyes turn into their eyes, and the private become public.
It’s important we remind ourselves how much both being private and being watched are illusions. They are two needs and two fears at once, they seem to be the only truth at times, when isolation and crowdedness take over any other sensation, but ultimately they are states guided by emotions. The need to feel protected, safe, alone and the need to feel guided, witnessed, connected.
When I’m dancing and there’s people around, perhaps it would be absurd to forget that completely. But it’s equally absurd to think they are watching me, thinking exactly this: “…”.
Empatherapy 