I grew up taking piano lessons from a wonderful woman in my home town in south Louisiana. She lived in my neighborhood, a polish Jewish lady who fled during ww2 to find herself growing up in rural west Louisiana deep in Cajun land. She had survived so much, adapted to so many things, and over the years she became a friend, a confident, and the best music teacher I could have ever hoped for. She had married a Cajun man from Opelousas, also a great pianist and teacher. They took me in when I needed it the most. Over the years I spent a tremendous amount of time with them, and often ended up staying for dinner. While they cooked, they would dance in the kitchen. I would watch them and think, “this is what I want. This is what I would look for in a marriage. I want to dance in the kitchen.”
It took me a long time to find my husband- my kitchen dancer- but the man dances and sings during the most mundane times and I love him deeply for it. I dance with him. We don’t need music, he makes up his own. The feeling is joy, and comfort, and laughter from the belly. It’s a universe of two.
Music has acted as a soundtrack throughout my life. I believe in the power of song. There are hundreds of songs that each represent different parts of my life and when I hear them take me back to those moments. From songs my grandma used to sing that I can still hear when I close my eyes to 90’s NY Hip Hop that makes me feel invincible. Doo-wop makes me think of my dad, 60’s and the Beatles are my mom’s thing.
Most recently, Beyoncé’s album Renaissance has been my armor during my on going breast cancer journey. Energy dropped at a time when I was struggling with staying invested at work, it was on repeat, daily during my commute. No doubt those glancing at me from their car have seen some very spirited, seated dancing.
During my first scan I asked for Beyoncé to drown out the symphony of magnets around me. Cozy came on. “She’s a God, She’s a hero, she’ll survive all she’s been through”. Could the Universe be any clearer. Right then Renaissance became my soundtrack.
Fast forward a month or so later, doctors thought the cancer may had metastasized to my liver. My daughter was with me when I got that phone call. For obvious reasons I was unable to hide my reaction and had to share that awful possibility with her. When my fiancé came home from work that day I debriefed her. We talked as a family; each acknowledging our fears. Faces long and pale. Whatever hope we were holding onto seemed to slip away. I allowed us to sit with that fear and grief for sometime. We all shared our thoughts and feelings. After we honored them, I summoned a family hug. Once our arms were no longer intertwined I declared, let’s dance. Alexa, play Renaissance by Beyoncé. “These motherfuckers ain’t stopping me” reverberating in our kitchen. Not everyone was able to let go and be as free as I was in that moment, but it allowed a moment of joy, distraction, in a terrifying time. That album played all day everyday - somehow sending me strength through sound waves. It was the only album I would listen to during the hour+ commute to chemo at Sloan, every appointment, and when the fear of death consumed me. As ridiculous as it may seem, it is what got me through the worst time of my life. Allowing me to dream of a future, while dancing and visualizing myself with strength and vibrancy in the years to come.
The concert was an out of body experience. I have never seen so much love and joy and diversity en masse. Everyone free to be who they are. To showcase and celebrate their authentic selves. A sea of bodies moving and winding in liberation.
I dance when I clean. When I cook. When I am in the car. Whenever the mood strikes. Whenever the song inspires me to.
I took ballet as a child. It filled my body and soul with freedom. Then, one teacher looked at me and said, "Stop making your hands into Witch Hands." I stopped dancing and did not begin again, until, as a teacher of young children, I wished for them to dance the freedom inherent in each of us. Each day, I take back my freedom, I purposely make my hands into the posture the teacher so many years ago chastised me for, and I exaggerate them, celebrate them and lengthen my fingers picturing waves of light pointing out of each one towards the sky.
My kitchen dance party often includes Jon’s Freedom.
It’s amazing how you can dissociate from disease (chronic or acute) while listening to music and move your body without thinking. It is the best physical therapy.
Ah, Suleika - my last dance was on my birthday, 12/29, at the NYC Ballet performance of the Nutcracker. I had played the role of Clara at 9 years old when Mrs. Miller's 5th grade class performed it just before the Christmas break. The moment I heard the overture, I was transported back in time. At some point, I closed my eyes, and while sitting in my seat, I danced to "The March" and saw myself in ballet slippers, tights, and that beautiful dress donated by the Boy's and Girl's Club. I remember feeling confident in my moves because while Mrs. Miller showed us the dance she wanted for our parts, she also allowed us to interpret it in a way that made sense to us. She was gifted at getting the best out of us, playing on our strengths, and providing encouraging words like, "Oh, I see, that's wonderful. You can do that, but tap the floor lightly with the tip of your toes..." Every child in her class was fully engaged, and the performance went on without a hitch. Seeing India Bradley, the first Black woman, play the role of Dew Drop was magical for me, just as performing the Nutcracker over 40 years earlier was - and I danced in my seat for the rest of the evening!
The three pictures of you dancing moved me to tears. What a beautiful visual representation of our calling to carry both darkness and light simultaneously. You have inspired me and I thank you.
I can't wait to sit and write on this. First I must respond to your share of missing the quietness, the confinement of illness. I get it! You have spoken of your hospital room being your most creative space before and I shouted a resounding, "Yes!" I felt the same. When your only focus is staying alive it all flows.
Three years out I still yearn for that freedom at times. I know, weird.
Thank you for the simple reminder that we're in charge of creating that space. I'm working on sticking with that intention. This connection surely helps. ❤️
Prompt 278. Midnight Alien Ballet by Suleika Jaouad
When was the last time you danced? Where were you? What were you listening to? What thoughts or feelings emerged? What stayed with you?
It has been too long since I last danced here on Earth. Too long. One of life’s warmest joys is moving through space with another embodied soul, holding each other, moving together with the music. Dance without music is more intimate, I think – sort of like an a cappella flowing physical melody.
In fifth grade we learned to square dance in the gym which had a wooden floor that creaked as we circled around moving to a twangy beat. And, we were dressed for the part. I admit the girls were attractive, and it was exciting to entwine, if even for a few seconds. I remember thinking to myself, “I like this. We should do this every week.”
In junior high and high school, the dances were awkward for many reasons. Our bodies were more mature; our thoughts were harder to corral; and close touch seemed illegal because it triggered a cascade of beautiful sensations and feelings.
Then, the disco days popped up. You remember? The disco ball, the heavy, rhythmic beat supported by an orchestra of strings or winded instruments, or both. John Travolta. Saturday Night Fever, Disco Inferno. And Donna Summer – a beautiful, strong voice. At the time, the nurse I was attracted to (Mary, my future wife) and I caught every chance we could to hit the disco floor. The flashing lights, strobe, high-energy music, and crowds signaled that something good and new in life was just around the corner. We got lost in a rapidly moving sea of joy. And, you could work up quite a sweat, more so than dancing the Polka.
Then, our wedding. It was a big deal. We even had a real Polka band. Everyone was on the dance floor. I lost at least ten pounds that night.
And I danced last at another wedding. Mary wanted to dance one more time. She knew her life was ending soon. The chemo had taken away her hair. She felt vulnerable, but she did not care. We danced slowly – she constrained by the pain of her neuropathy. I followed her. I think this was a moment for her to reflect on all the moments we had danced, and she wanted to dance one more time. It was a heartache, and I had difficulty controlling my emotions.
It has been over a decade since we last danced. I think I would like to dance again, soon, so I can remember. I am ready.
A year ago in October, I wrenched my back and experienced chronic back pain for the first time. I will spare you the details, but I used to weep taking a shower, it hurt so much. After seeing a doctor, chiropractor, acupuncturist and massage therapist, I was slowly improving. In December, Troy Andrews, aka Trombone Shorty, held his annual Tunes For Toys toy drive and concert. If you brought a toy, you got to see all kinds of free music. I could barely walk from my car to the playing field, but I wanted to hear him and the Soul Rebels and see the Baby Dolls and everyone else. I found a spot on the bleachers, chatting away with some concertgoers, and the music began. Everybody got up to dance and I automatically got up to dance, too. The Rebels and Troy played the Rebels’ song 504, and I was shaking my money maker like I’d never been injured. Midway through, I remember thinking, “This is probably not a good idea,” but I kept dancing. I spent the next day hurting. However, it felt like a turning point in my recovery - if I could dance, I was going to get better - and the joy was unforgettable.
Jan 7·edited Jan 7Liked by Suleika Jaouad, Carmen Radley
Suleika, what you wrote about a part of you counterintuitively longing for the solitude and creative immersion of your inpatient bubble made sense to me. It reminded me in a way of the first year of the pandemic. Being totally locked down was terrifying and I don’t want to ever go back to that again. Yet it was also the most creatively significant year of my life and blew my life ripen in a magical way. I look back at that year and the good floats to the surface of my memory.
I wish I knew how to dance and could naturally move like a dancer. I can watch a piece of choreography on a loop, yet my brain doesn’t retain what I’m seeing in a way that lets me mimic it myself. Yesterday I read about a study that showed dancing can stave off dementia by something like 65%. My mother has dementia and I’m determined to avoid that path. I feel like I’m being pointed toward learning to dance or adding it to my life somehow. I’ll start with YouTube.
In whatever state of wellness.. this is perfect. I’m a two time cancer survivor having some severe hip problems. I have to wait about 10 days for my scans and I’m fearing for my “wellness”. Thank you for this message ♥️
Jan 7·edited Jan 7Liked by Suleika Jaouad, Carmen Radley
Wow. Dance and movement has sustained me my entire life. It has shepherded me out of dark places, and given reason to be alive.Although I no longer dance, my daughter does. I am in remission for Ovarian Cancer, patient at MSKCC. My entire journey from the kingdom of the sick to the kingdom of the well (6th year of remission, but BRCA1) has been spent being a guide for my dancing daughter. Next month she auditions for Juilliard! A gift, and maybe now I can enter the kingdom of those who are well. You see, every step of my recovery and remission has been chronicled by my daughter’s journey. Being alive to partake, even if I am not the dancer. Thank you ❤️❤️.
Thank you for naming this very particular bittersweetness - that of getting better. It’s what I yearn for more than anything, and yet the glimmers of it come with that complicated shadow. It’s largely comprised of fear, I suppose, and the uncertainty of what “better” will look like, and what will be expected of me. After being ill for so long, I fear that I’ve diminished beyond usefulness. Will I be able to live as I wish, without too many demands? It’s a difficult thing to admit, and your courage in naming it is already helping me explore it.
Dancing has been in my life since a little girl. How it began, unfortunately, was due to beatings with a strap from my mentally ill mother. During beatings I would disconnect from my body, to save myself. But we had what I call a music room, with what then was called a phonograph player, and I’d put music on , especially when alone in my big house, and dance to the music of South Pacific, Oklahoma, Bo Diddley, Fats Domino, and I let all of that physical pain go. I know it helped me emotionally because I began dancing and performing in my community in Lynn, Mass and got my friends to help with costumes and some dance moves. To this day I dance all the time. When I dance I forget about pain and I’m filled with joy. When I was little if I wanted to dance to my sadness I’d dance to Nat King Cole’s “Smile”, which is on briefly in Jon’s album. Music has saved my soul and fills me with joy!
My parents noticed that my sister and I would run out to the living room and dance whenever they put on one of their LP's (1950s) so at seven, she put us in dance classes for ballet and tap. I thrived, and went on to dance at the Third Street Studio in Hollywood with Roland Dupree as my teacher. I was the youngest, with most of the dancers being in their late teens or twenties and me being only fifteen. But I didn't have the support of my parents or even the teacher there to keep going and once I met my new boyfriend, I dropped out. I'm seventy-two now, and one of my favorite shows to ever exist has been "So You Think You Can Dance." The mirror neurons and muscle memory remind me of the passionate young girl who loved to dance and I just want to be one of them on that stage. I even (don't laugh) have saved Instagram posts of tutorials on doing the Shuffle to the music Pascal Letoublon. I've tried to learn the steps and feel so heavy, even though I'm not considered overweight. But in my mind I can do it, and wonder if I were to practice daily, would I eventually achieve that feeling of freedom in my body again? I don't know but it's fun thinking about it and even more fun putting on music and trying.
I am a dance/movement therapist at MSKCC in Pediatrics and also just watched your film, American Symphony last night. I have been following your journey for a while and am always left feeling inspired. In watching your doc and also reading your book and blog posts, I have often wished I had had the opportunity to work with you during your journey. I feel we speak a similar language and then in seeing his post, I again felt inspired and in awe of your story. Keep moving, keep dancing, and keep creating. Thank you for your work. I know you help a lot of patients find themselves again; your vulnerability and willingness to share your story reaches many. I currently provide a dance wellness class for cancer patients through Integrative Medicine Svs at MSK and we have all discussed your story during classes, so I know firsthand that you have made a wide impact. <3
I grew up taking piano lessons from a wonderful woman in my home town in south Louisiana. She lived in my neighborhood, a polish Jewish lady who fled during ww2 to find herself growing up in rural west Louisiana deep in Cajun land. She had survived so much, adapted to so many things, and over the years she became a friend, a confident, and the best music teacher I could have ever hoped for. She had married a Cajun man from Opelousas, also a great pianist and teacher. They took me in when I needed it the most. Over the years I spent a tremendous amount of time with them, and often ended up staying for dinner. While they cooked, they would dance in the kitchen. I would watch them and think, “this is what I want. This is what I would look for in a marriage. I want to dance in the kitchen.”
It took me a long time to find my husband- my kitchen dancer- but the man dances and sings during the most mundane times and I love him deeply for it. I dance with him. We don’t need music, he makes up his own. The feeling is joy, and comfort, and laughter from the belly. It’s a universe of two.
I wish kitchen dancing for everyone.
Music has acted as a soundtrack throughout my life. I believe in the power of song. There are hundreds of songs that each represent different parts of my life and when I hear them take me back to those moments. From songs my grandma used to sing that I can still hear when I close my eyes to 90’s NY Hip Hop that makes me feel invincible. Doo-wop makes me think of my dad, 60’s and the Beatles are my mom’s thing.
Most recently, Beyoncé’s album Renaissance has been my armor during my on going breast cancer journey. Energy dropped at a time when I was struggling with staying invested at work, it was on repeat, daily during my commute. No doubt those glancing at me from their car have seen some very spirited, seated dancing.
During my first scan I asked for Beyoncé to drown out the symphony of magnets around me. Cozy came on. “She’s a God, She’s a hero, she’ll survive all she’s been through”. Could the Universe be any clearer. Right then Renaissance became my soundtrack.
Fast forward a month or so later, doctors thought the cancer may had metastasized to my liver. My daughter was with me when I got that phone call. For obvious reasons I was unable to hide my reaction and had to share that awful possibility with her. When my fiancé came home from work that day I debriefed her. We talked as a family; each acknowledging our fears. Faces long and pale. Whatever hope we were holding onto seemed to slip away. I allowed us to sit with that fear and grief for sometime. We all shared our thoughts and feelings. After we honored them, I summoned a family hug. Once our arms were no longer intertwined I declared, let’s dance. Alexa, play Renaissance by Beyoncé. “These motherfuckers ain’t stopping me” reverberating in our kitchen. Not everyone was able to let go and be as free as I was in that moment, but it allowed a moment of joy, distraction, in a terrifying time. That album played all day everyday - somehow sending me strength through sound waves. It was the only album I would listen to during the hour+ commute to chemo at Sloan, every appointment, and when the fear of death consumed me. As ridiculous as it may seem, it is what got me through the worst time of my life. Allowing me to dream of a future, while dancing and visualizing myself with strength and vibrancy in the years to come.
The concert was an out of body experience. I have never seen so much love and joy and diversity en masse. Everyone free to be who they are. To showcase and celebrate their authentic selves. A sea of bodies moving and winding in liberation.
I dance when I clean. When I cook. When I am in the car. Whenever the mood strikes. Whenever the song inspires me to.
I took ballet as a child. It filled my body and soul with freedom. Then, one teacher looked at me and said, "Stop making your hands into Witch Hands." I stopped dancing and did not begin again, until, as a teacher of young children, I wished for them to dance the freedom inherent in each of us. Each day, I take back my freedom, I purposely make my hands into the posture the teacher so many years ago chastised me for, and I exaggerate them, celebrate them and lengthen my fingers picturing waves of light pointing out of each one towards the sky.
My kitchen dance party often includes Jon’s Freedom.
It’s amazing how you can dissociate from disease (chronic or acute) while listening to music and move your body without thinking. It is the best physical therapy.
Ah, Suleika - my last dance was on my birthday, 12/29, at the NYC Ballet performance of the Nutcracker. I had played the role of Clara at 9 years old when Mrs. Miller's 5th grade class performed it just before the Christmas break. The moment I heard the overture, I was transported back in time. At some point, I closed my eyes, and while sitting in my seat, I danced to "The March" and saw myself in ballet slippers, tights, and that beautiful dress donated by the Boy's and Girl's Club. I remember feeling confident in my moves because while Mrs. Miller showed us the dance she wanted for our parts, she also allowed us to interpret it in a way that made sense to us. She was gifted at getting the best out of us, playing on our strengths, and providing encouraging words like, "Oh, I see, that's wonderful. You can do that, but tap the floor lightly with the tip of your toes..." Every child in her class was fully engaged, and the performance went on without a hitch. Seeing India Bradley, the first Black woman, play the role of Dew Drop was magical for me, just as performing the Nutcracker over 40 years earlier was - and I danced in my seat for the rest of the evening!
The three pictures of you dancing moved me to tears. What a beautiful visual representation of our calling to carry both darkness and light simultaneously. You have inspired me and I thank you.
I can't wait to sit and write on this. First I must respond to your share of missing the quietness, the confinement of illness. I get it! You have spoken of your hospital room being your most creative space before and I shouted a resounding, "Yes!" I felt the same. When your only focus is staying alive it all flows.
Three years out I still yearn for that freedom at times. I know, weird.
Thank you for the simple reminder that we're in charge of creating that space. I'm working on sticking with that intention. This connection surely helps. ❤️
Prompt 278. Midnight Alien Ballet by Suleika Jaouad
When was the last time you danced? Where were you? What were you listening to? What thoughts or feelings emerged? What stayed with you?
It has been too long since I last danced here on Earth. Too long. One of life’s warmest joys is moving through space with another embodied soul, holding each other, moving together with the music. Dance without music is more intimate, I think – sort of like an a cappella flowing physical melody.
In fifth grade we learned to square dance in the gym which had a wooden floor that creaked as we circled around moving to a twangy beat. And, we were dressed for the part. I admit the girls were attractive, and it was exciting to entwine, if even for a few seconds. I remember thinking to myself, “I like this. We should do this every week.”
In junior high and high school, the dances were awkward for many reasons. Our bodies were more mature; our thoughts were harder to corral; and close touch seemed illegal because it triggered a cascade of beautiful sensations and feelings.
Then, the disco days popped up. You remember? The disco ball, the heavy, rhythmic beat supported by an orchestra of strings or winded instruments, or both. John Travolta. Saturday Night Fever, Disco Inferno. And Donna Summer – a beautiful, strong voice. At the time, the nurse I was attracted to (Mary, my future wife) and I caught every chance we could to hit the disco floor. The flashing lights, strobe, high-energy music, and crowds signaled that something good and new in life was just around the corner. We got lost in a rapidly moving sea of joy. And, you could work up quite a sweat, more so than dancing the Polka.
Then, our wedding. It was a big deal. We even had a real Polka band. Everyone was on the dance floor. I lost at least ten pounds that night.
And I danced last at another wedding. Mary wanted to dance one more time. She knew her life was ending soon. The chemo had taken away her hair. She felt vulnerable, but she did not care. We danced slowly – she constrained by the pain of her neuropathy. I followed her. I think this was a moment for her to reflect on all the moments we had danced, and she wanted to dance one more time. It was a heartache, and I had difficulty controlling my emotions.
It has been over a decade since we last danced. I think I would like to dance again, soon, so I can remember. I am ready.
A year ago in October, I wrenched my back and experienced chronic back pain for the first time. I will spare you the details, but I used to weep taking a shower, it hurt so much. After seeing a doctor, chiropractor, acupuncturist and massage therapist, I was slowly improving. In December, Troy Andrews, aka Trombone Shorty, held his annual Tunes For Toys toy drive and concert. If you brought a toy, you got to see all kinds of free music. I could barely walk from my car to the playing field, but I wanted to hear him and the Soul Rebels and see the Baby Dolls and everyone else. I found a spot on the bleachers, chatting away with some concertgoers, and the music began. Everybody got up to dance and I automatically got up to dance, too. The Rebels and Troy played the Rebels’ song 504, and I was shaking my money maker like I’d never been injured. Midway through, I remember thinking, “This is probably not a good idea,” but I kept dancing. I spent the next day hurting. However, it felt like a turning point in my recovery - if I could dance, I was going to get better - and the joy was unforgettable.
Suleika, what you wrote about a part of you counterintuitively longing for the solitude and creative immersion of your inpatient bubble made sense to me. It reminded me in a way of the first year of the pandemic. Being totally locked down was terrifying and I don’t want to ever go back to that again. Yet it was also the most creatively significant year of my life and blew my life ripen in a magical way. I look back at that year and the good floats to the surface of my memory.
I wish I knew how to dance and could naturally move like a dancer. I can watch a piece of choreography on a loop, yet my brain doesn’t retain what I’m seeing in a way that lets me mimic it myself. Yesterday I read about a study that showed dancing can stave off dementia by something like 65%. My mother has dementia and I’m determined to avoid that path. I feel like I’m being pointed toward learning to dance or adding it to my life somehow. I’ll start with YouTube.
In whatever state of wellness.. this is perfect. I’m a two time cancer survivor having some severe hip problems. I have to wait about 10 days for my scans and I’m fearing for my “wellness”. Thank you for this message ♥️
Wow. Dance and movement has sustained me my entire life. It has shepherded me out of dark places, and given reason to be alive.Although I no longer dance, my daughter does. I am in remission for Ovarian Cancer, patient at MSKCC. My entire journey from the kingdom of the sick to the kingdom of the well (6th year of remission, but BRCA1) has been spent being a guide for my dancing daughter. Next month she auditions for Juilliard! A gift, and maybe now I can enter the kingdom of those who are well. You see, every step of my recovery and remission has been chronicled by my daughter’s journey. Being alive to partake, even if I am not the dancer. Thank you ❤️❤️.
Thank you for naming this very particular bittersweetness - that of getting better. It’s what I yearn for more than anything, and yet the glimmers of it come with that complicated shadow. It’s largely comprised of fear, I suppose, and the uncertainty of what “better” will look like, and what will be expected of me. After being ill for so long, I fear that I’ve diminished beyond usefulness. Will I be able to live as I wish, without too many demands? It’s a difficult thing to admit, and your courage in naming it is already helping me explore it.
Dancing has been in my life since a little girl. How it began, unfortunately, was due to beatings with a strap from my mentally ill mother. During beatings I would disconnect from my body, to save myself. But we had what I call a music room, with what then was called a phonograph player, and I’d put music on , especially when alone in my big house, and dance to the music of South Pacific, Oklahoma, Bo Diddley, Fats Domino, and I let all of that physical pain go. I know it helped me emotionally because I began dancing and performing in my community in Lynn, Mass and got my friends to help with costumes and some dance moves. To this day I dance all the time. When I dance I forget about pain and I’m filled with joy. When I was little if I wanted to dance to my sadness I’d dance to Nat King Cole’s “Smile”, which is on briefly in Jon’s album. Music has saved my soul and fills me with joy!
My parents noticed that my sister and I would run out to the living room and dance whenever they put on one of their LP's (1950s) so at seven, she put us in dance classes for ballet and tap. I thrived, and went on to dance at the Third Street Studio in Hollywood with Roland Dupree as my teacher. I was the youngest, with most of the dancers being in their late teens or twenties and me being only fifteen. But I didn't have the support of my parents or even the teacher there to keep going and once I met my new boyfriend, I dropped out. I'm seventy-two now, and one of my favorite shows to ever exist has been "So You Think You Can Dance." The mirror neurons and muscle memory remind me of the passionate young girl who loved to dance and I just want to be one of them on that stage. I even (don't laugh) have saved Instagram posts of tutorials on doing the Shuffle to the music Pascal Letoublon. I've tried to learn the steps and feel so heavy, even though I'm not considered overweight. But in my mind I can do it, and wonder if I were to practice daily, would I eventually achieve that feeling of freedom in my body again? I don't know but it's fun thinking about it and even more fun putting on music and trying.
I am a dance/movement therapist at MSKCC in Pediatrics and also just watched your film, American Symphony last night. I have been following your journey for a while and am always left feeling inspired. In watching your doc and also reading your book and blog posts, I have often wished I had had the opportunity to work with you during your journey. I feel we speak a similar language and then in seeing his post, I again felt inspired and in awe of your story. Keep moving, keep dancing, and keep creating. Thank you for your work. I know you help a lot of patients find themselves again; your vulnerability and willingness to share your story reaches many. I currently provide a dance wellness class for cancer patients through Integrative Medicine Svs at MSK and we have all discussed your story during classes, so I know firsthand that you have made a wide impact. <3