What if Practice Doesn’t Make Perfect?

I have spent so much of my life being a perfectionist. And yet, I have found myself on a path that asks me to practice daily. There is never a perfection on this path. It is a daily practice, it is today, it will be tomorrow, it will be 10, 15, 20 years from now. One does not step onto her mat for a daily perfection of yoga, it is a daily practice of yoga. Even the Yoga Sutras, the bible of yoga if you will, never fails to call it a practice. This is something that I intellectually know, but it is still taking time for me to emotionally accept this fact. There are days filled with great frustration, anger, sadness even, at the realization that there is no perfecting anything. Every day will be different, with its own unique challenges, successes, and failures, both on my yoga mat and off. This is not something that I am easily accepting.

Just after I finished practicing alone at the yoga studio where I work I looked outside to see the wind whipping through the barren trees in the courtyard just beyond the window. I could see flurries being whirled around in tornado like circles, desperately trying to fall from the sky to the earth, being forced to take alternative routes, collide with other tiny snowflakes, and figure out how to eventually descend to their final resting places. It was sad, it was beautiful, and it simply was, all at once. I feel a lot like those tiny snowflakes these days, I thought I would travel in a straight line, but somehow the wind picked me up and carried me off track. Of course I know I am not off the track I am supposed to be on, but I am off the track I thought I should be on, which makes things confusing, unpredictable, and, oh yeah, exciting. We all know the shortest distance between two points is a straight line so I guess this nonlinear path just gives me more time to practice.


About djunapassman

I teach yoga, write, and edit. I live in a Brooklyn neighborhood that is changing faster than I can, or care to, keep up with. Manhattan still beckons me to her island a few subways stops away, reminding me of when I lived amongst her daily hustle and bustle.
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