The dance begins.

As I write, Kristin lays a few feet away in her hospital bed at the bottom of the wellness curve. She had a bone marrow transplant 6 days ago. I won't bother listing her current symptoms of misery. Just imagine the worst you have ever felt and multiply by a leukemia factor of 100.

Before I came to the hospital last night, I went to Jasmine's dance class at the Sweat Spot. I am not a technical dancer and for me, the choreography she presented in lightning fast speed just didn't jive with my brain or my body. The non-technical response I had was "I'm f*&#*ed."

But rather than walk out the door, I hung in there, just trying to do as I was asked. And then repeating it. In the end, I didn't create beauty but something that reasonably resembled the choreography. Mainly, I worked on moving through a wide range of emotions.

Yesterday was like this. I went from watching one of my closest friends endure barbaric and heroic treatments for cancer, to having a hopeful meeting on a future project, to struggling to get a dance right, to settling in for another long night with Kristin at City of Hope hospital.

As I ready myself for a long journey toward Cambodia and my work with the girls at Transitions Global, I imagine that this preview dance is preparing me for the dance of my trip. I am certain that I will experience sadness and hopefulness and confusion and frustration and joy throughout every day, perhaps every hour.

So maybe dancing isn't entirely about joy. Maybe it is about being able to be flexible and strong enough to deeply feel all the human emotions that it takes to live a life and to move through them knowing that the journey itself is the dance.