A Personal Letter from Brynne

Dear Community,

I have been writing this letter in my head and in my heart since early Summer. I either couldn’t find the time to sit down and actually write it or I didn’t want to write from within it, so I held it inside until I felt it was ready to materialize in language. Still, it seems like a somewhat tangled, non-linear, and liminal space to express from, but as we often find ourselves in these spaces in life, I will do my best to share from there, that is to say, without an element of the absolute, without a certainty. I haven’t yet fully arrived. 

And yet, I am writing to you now from my temporary desk, in my temporary home in Roanoke, Virginia. I accepted a job here just a couple months ago as I was in the messy, stressful middle of preparing my home for the market, in anticipation of leaving New York —which had been my home for the last 21 years— with a pending move to a dreamy, tiny white-washed hill town— a pueblo blanco— in Southern Spain. 

But, let me backup. As I said, this hasn’t been linear but certain components have been decided and known since March 2022. Just yesterday, as I introduced myself to the graduate students I will be teaching here this semester as Visiting Assistant Professor of Dance at Hollins University, I spoke of my history in dance, somatics, Pilates and yoga, entrepreneurship, coaching and healing work, and the melding of these fields that have been my life’s work. The only question a student asked was, “Why did you decide to move to Spain?”

The only way I can explain this is that I woke up one morning in March 2022 and I was no longer the same person and I knew I could no longer live the same life. I happened to be on a solo retreat in a remote town in Jamaica, I just turned 42, and I had been going through some deeply painful things, reckoning with unfulfilled desires around motherhood, whether or not I would seek fertility interventions, and the associated anxiety, fear, and grief that accompanied that experience. 

I was experiencing intense longing for something that appeared out of my control. It rattled my whole sense of self, destabilizing and de-centering me, and wrecking my ego. 

Yet, within that, I also felt closer to my Self— my soul-spirit-being— than ever before. I kept thinking and saying that I just can’t keep living like this. I need to live differently. I need to live freely. I could only describe it as a sort of crisis/awakening. It was both. An ending and a beginning. It was a bewildering yet beautiful feeling. 

I needed to put the brakes on my current life and redirect. I was at a threshold and I had access to something (something mystical, something divine) I hadn’t before. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to last for long, either. It was an intensely clarifying moment and it wasn’t just coming from me. It seemed like the universe was tapping me on the shoulder: “Not this way. This way.” 

I’ve tried to explain to people over these years that when I woke up that morning I felt closer to knowing my death, which is to say, my life. Because I had a very clear understanding that I was at a half-way point, I knew that the second half of my life needed to look and feel differently. I needed a radical change, I needed to explore the unknown, I needed to make myself uncomfortable and afraid, and ultimately freer. 

It can be hard to leave something behind in life, even when it’s not serving you. But, I’ve found it even harder to leave something behind that is serving you. I loved my life. I loved what I was doing and learning and experiencing. I adored my clients, each and every one of them/you. I was and am so proud of the studio I co-created with my incredible team and I love each and every instructor that has helped create our family and community. I still love Brooklyn, even when I hate seeing its current iteration of transformation. I love New York City and I love(d) my home in Yonkers, the park I ran in with my dogs, the drives up and down the Hudson. I love my friends and family down south and know I can’t go back now. How do you leave behind something you love?

(See, it is a death.)

And, I did. A few days ago I left my empty, echo-y home for the last time. I gave myself the time to say goodbye to each room and every tree. I lay on the floor in my living room, tears streaming down my temples and into the 100-year old hardwood, absorbing a small part of me. 

I left behind the three aluminum pipe wind chimes my husband had built for my graduate thesis performance and the difficult memories from that part of my life, when we didn’t know if our problems would be too much for us to get through, and yet somehow through pain and art and collaboration and forgiveness we did. 

As I was leaving I was conscious that I was also moving towards. Still, I was sad and clinging to what was. I knew this was a both/and moment of my life. I am ending and I am beginning. I am devastated and full of joy. I am love and I am fear, jumbled together with curiosity, humility, gratitude, and awe. The awe of aliveness. 

As I’m stepping away from my daily, physical role in the studio, I will continue to be present and available to my community through my letters, periodic visits, virtual sessions, and eventually when I fully land in my new home in Spain in a few months, transformative personal and group retreats. I hope you will stay connected and continue to receive the very best care from my incredible team of expert practitioners. Cristina, Mariela, Mikayla, Taylor, Lucy, Charlie, and Savannah will continue to offer the very best in Pilates, fitness, and holistic, body-centered healing. 

Till then, 

with care and gratitude,

Brynne