When I was 11, summertime meant visiting Monticello, New York, in the Catskill Mountains. We started visiting after my sister contracted polio in her legs. Swimming was part of her recovery, and those summers became essential in our lives.
My passion for ballet, like a faithful companion, journeyed with me, always by my side. Dancing, a source of unbridled joy since the tender age of two, was never a chore. If anything, I was often told to take a break. Ballet, with its graceful movements, became my wings, lifting me above the emotional storms of childhood, providing a profound outlet for expression.
Years later, at the Whole Life Expo in New York City, I had a life-altering encounter with movement. Babatunde Olatunji and his Drums of Passion performed for a packed ballroom. The rhythm was intoxicating, the beat seemingly drawn from the very heartbeat of the Earth. Babatunde's invitation was more than a call to dance:
"Dance like you're thrilled to be alive, not to impress or seduce."
His words cut through the crowd's hesitancy, and suddenly, the room erupted with unrestrained joy. Most people present danced with such freedom and connection before or since.
This memory came back to me one summer in Monticello. While I perfected my ballet movements alone, a group of young people rehearsed for a play. I was excluded from their group activities but overheard one day that their lead dancer didn't have ballet shoes. Someone suggested she ask me to lend mine.
I remember my initial reaction—a spark of indignation. "You've excluded me, yet you want what I have?" Still, the next day, the girl approached me while we swam. With a big smile, she asked, "Nancy, can I borrow your ballet shoes?"
I smiled back and replied, "Not a chance," before swimming away. She responded with playful defiance, trying to catch me with a mouthful of water.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, my refusal was a lesson in action. I was establishing my boundaries, and in doing so, I was helping her understand that generosity is not a gateway to entitlement. It's about giving from a place of love, not from a sense of obligation.
The Reflection
Generosity comes from fearless love. But too often, we confuse generosity with obligation. Many of us give and feel taken advantage of when others don't reciprocate or respect our offerings.
The secret is learning to say "no" without guilt. When we do, we preserve the purity of our generosity. We can give freely, without expecting anything in return, and without the resentment that arises from unmet expectations.
Exercise
Boundaries in Action:
Recall a recent time when you felt obligated to give something. Reflect on whether you genuinely wanted to or felt pressured.
Practice saying "no" lovingly but firmly in a future situation. Notice how it feels to honor your boundaries.
Generosity Reset:
Think of someone you've given to without resentment or expectation. How does that feel compared to giving when you feel obliged?
Commit to giving only when your heart feels whole and fearless.
A Final Thought:
Generosity and boundaries are not opposites; they are partners. Boundaries allow us to give from a place of abundance and joy, ensuring that our acts of love remain untarnished.
Do you agree? When have you felt empowered by saying "no"?
