Many of us are of the deep-rooted and persistent “Failure Is Not An Option” school of thought. We learned it at a young age. It was useful in that it taught us to apply ourselves in school, sports, piano lessons, interpersonal relationships, school plays, college applications, resume writing, job interviewing, work, parenting. But there comes a point in our lives where this school of thought outlives its usefulness. It starts preventing us from growth; rather than encouraging us to reach higher, it suggests that perhaps reaching higher would cause us to topple over. And nobody wants that, really – to topple over. But sometimes it’s just the thing, the beautiful, right, necessary thing.
I first learned to topple on my yoga mat. Never in my life had I leaned into the unknown. Never had I tried anything where falling/ failing was a possibility. I skied with the tips of my skis together for nearly a decade before allowing them to separate. (A teensy bit.) I went for the sure thing in all departments – from my personal life to the jobs I held. I only did things I knew I would/ could excel at. Because Failure Was Not An Option. Until it was.
Yoga took me upside down. I still remember my first yoga class – I couldn’t breathe in Down Dog. (Did you know Down Dog is a mild inversion? I don’t think of it as one, because the feet are on the ground. And yet it is.) I kept looking at the friend who had brought me to class with her, like, “Why can she breathe and I can’t?” I hadn’t turned my life upside down in…well, ever. I was looking at my life with a wild new perspective. And I couldn’t breathe.
This, of course, went away. I learned to breathe up, down, and sideways. I learned that, in fact, the breath is the only reliable vehicle to carry me through my life. I kept going upside down, literally and figuratively. I fell a few times – I still fall! (Boy, do I ever.) Because, friends, we can’t grow if we don’t reach, sometimes even overreach. The good, juicy yoga begins when we find that sweet place where we are leaning into the unknown while firmly rooted in the moment. It’s not reckless or fearless – it’s controlled, but with a sense of blossoming, opening. We are grounded, but we are also receptive to anything and everything coming our way. (Like I teach my little yogis, we keep a space between our Namaste hands to represent our open hearts.) We know that whatever happens, we’ll be ok. Better than ok.
If we’re really lucky, we’ll all fall now and then. We’ll lean far enough into the beauty of possibility that will simply topple. And when we do, we’ll get back up. We’ll ride the breath back up. We’ll call upon that divine spark inside of us to pull ourselves off the ground. Or we’ll look to the people all around us who want to help pick us up – some of whom we can’t even suspect would be our saviors (until they are). And we’ll reach even higher next time, because we experienced it – failure – and we survived.
