Imagine one day, you're stepping off a bus, and across the street, a bank is being robbed. The police have already arrived, and the robbers panic. A shoot-out ensues, and a stray bullet finds its way to your upper thigh, penetrating your femoral artery. You're left, slumped over on the curb, with ambulance sirens crying out in the distance.
You've just been shot. Whether you like it or not, you need to get to a hospital. You will need surgery to remove the bullet, months of rehab, need to take substantial amounts of time off work, and full recovery may take years.
What I want out of my yoga practice is excellence. It's a samskara that has been cut deeply into my psyche. Every detail polished, every asana text-book perfect. I'm really very hard on myself. If I'm going to do something, I do it. No half-measures or less than full effort.
I also tend to be a bit obsessive. To explain why would be a lengthy decent into insecurity, self-doubt and an intense competitive drive. This isn't a healthy desire. It messes with my mind. Even when doing home practice, if I fail to achieve a given transition or asana, especially one I've previously been able to access, I can't just note where I am and move on. I can't quit. Not ever. It's a problem.
I've recently been joining in a yoga challenge on Instagram, and I'm having a tough time accepting that there are certain movements that are years out of my reach. My hamstrings are habitually tight, as are my hip-flexors and glutes, general core muscles, shoulders, ankles and knees. At least, they're tighter than most yoga practitioners. This impedes my ability to move in and out of inversions. A lot.
The point here, is that like the bullet in the hypothetical shootout, the only appropriate response to the situation is to accept the present reality for what it is. Staring angrily at a bullet hole won't fix the leg anymore than getting frustrated over chronically tight psoas will let me drop-back. Getting emotionally attached to the outcome of any given situation is rarely helpful.
Of course, this is easier to say, or as in this case, write, harder to execute. As I sit here feeding my son, periodically coughing, my body aching from the vicious flu he's passed to me, no doubt as an act of revenge for making him eat spinach, the same irritating voice calls to me. "There's something you can't do" it says. "You'd better practice. Practice until you collapse. Practice until you break. Practice until you die."
Shut 'yer pie hole!
You've just been shot. Whether you like it or not, you need to get to a hospital. You will need surgery to remove the bullet, months of rehab, need to take substantial amounts of time off work, and full recovery may take years.
What I want out of my yoga practice is excellence. It's a samskara that has been cut deeply into my psyche. Every detail polished, every asana text-book perfect. I'm really very hard on myself. If I'm going to do something, I do it. No half-measures or less than full effort.
I also tend to be a bit obsessive. To explain why would be a lengthy decent into insecurity, self-doubt and an intense competitive drive. This isn't a healthy desire. It messes with my mind. Even when doing home practice, if I fail to achieve a given transition or asana, especially one I've previously been able to access, I can't just note where I am and move on. I can't quit. Not ever. It's a problem.
I've recently been joining in a yoga challenge on Instagram, and I'm having a tough time accepting that there are certain movements that are years out of my reach. My hamstrings are habitually tight, as are my hip-flexors and glutes, general core muscles, shoulders, ankles and knees. At least, they're tighter than most yoga practitioners. This impedes my ability to move in and out of inversions. A lot.
The point here, is that like the bullet in the hypothetical shootout, the only appropriate response to the situation is to accept the present reality for what it is. Staring angrily at a bullet hole won't fix the leg anymore than getting frustrated over chronically tight psoas will let me drop-back. Getting emotionally attached to the outcome of any given situation is rarely helpful.
Of course, this is easier to say, or as in this case, write, harder to execute. As I sit here feeding my son, periodically coughing, my body aching from the vicious flu he's passed to me, no doubt as an act of revenge for making him eat spinach, the same irritating voice calls to me. "There's something you can't do" it says. "You'd better practice. Practice until you collapse. Practice until you break. Practice until you die."
Shut 'yer pie hole!