I persevere.
That’s what I do.
I was in my late thirties when I first started yoga. I am one of those people who could basically get away with eating almost anything without needing to sweat it off. I embarked on my yoga journey not out of interest or curiosity; I started experiencing chronic pains when I turned thirty. This was partly due to my awful posture but mostly, it was because of a mild spinal injury from an accident during my teens. I tried out physiotherapy and some other alternative therapies but these only provided temporary relief. At some point, amidst my frequent complains, one of my colleagues recommended an Iyengar yoga teacher to help with my injury. It took me another two years of procrastinating (despite her constant badgering) before I finally looked her up.
Now, try imagining this skinny middle age lady attempting to do a forward fold but could barely reach her knees, and then falling flat on her face whilst getting into a chaturanga!
In short, my first yoga class was TORTURE!
The next few days left me with aches in places I didn’t realise could hurt! But I persevered. Now, six years down the road, if anyone were to ask me about yoga, I would say that taking that first class was one of the best decisions I’ve made! Perseverance has brought me to where I am now, not only with my yoga practice but with life in generally. And I have to say, I am in a good place.
On the flip side, this trait of mine has also brought with it a fair bit of hardship. I’ve had situations where my persistence had led me to a point where I couldn’t help but wonder whether this so-called “strength” of mine was a curse rather than a blessing. Since young, I’ve been raised to be resilient in the face of adversity. I was taught that hard work will bear results and so, I would roll up my sleeves and relentlessly strive to overcome any obstacles in my path. However, life has shown me otherwise – sometimes working hard doesn’t bring the results we are hoping for. Some things might simply not be worth the effort.
This then raises the question of:
When do we give up?
How do we know when it’s time to fold? Do we decide this by trying to figure out the cost-benefit of holding or folding?
I’ve tried taking that figuring-out route but I don’t think that route worked out too well for me. The last I did that, I was thrown in such a quandary and I ended up with nothing to show but a massive headache. It created more questions rather than yielding answers!
I do, however, notice a pattern to my not-so-successful ventures. Yes, I do struggle with giving them up but eventually, I get to a point of absolute mental and emotional exhaustion. And at that point, I am forced to stop.
Maybe there is no other method to this.
Maybe we just have to give our very best, and the stopping will come naturally when there is nothing left to give.
Maybe that’s the answer.
As I Walk 