Sunday, July 01, 2012


A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, said Lao-Tzu.  A yoga practice of 46 (or so) poses begins with a single breath, say I.

You awake, slightly hungover from an evening on which you rode your bike around a foreign, but not entirely unfamiliar city, stopping here and there for a beer or two en route and so, you think, “Ah, what the hell; I’m in a hotel room, why not just sleep in and forget about it,” but your conscience gets the best of you and so you resolve to just get up, brush your teeth and at least stand and chant and then, once that’s happened, you resolve to do three sun salutations and the padmasana, but after a couple of surya namaskaras, you find yourself seguing into utthita trikonasana and soon enough, before you know it, the entire primary series is done with, which just goes to show that by far, the hardest part of any practice is right before you start.

Once you’ve begun something, you’ve already practically finished it. 

Your brain tries to kill you beforehand with all the reasons why you can’t do what you ought to do but if you can just manage to trick yourself by imagining that you’re not really going to carry things through you can, by degrees, surprise yourself with what you might be able to accomplish.

I first noticed this is seventh grade when I had to redo the social studies project that Charles Titterington stole from my locker.  I cried for a  couple hours at first, but when I eventually got started, it only took me about half that long to get it done.

I’m not exactly sure what the implications of this are in life generally, other than to note that things are sometimes easier done than said, a phenomenon, which, though counterintuitive, serves to explain why, when all is said and done, here I am, finished with this.


Post a Comment

<< Home