I’ve spent a large chunk of my adult life working very hard toward one goal: not making a fool of myself. Ever. Much like Singing in The Rain’s Don Lockwood, my motto was “Dignity. Always dignity.”
This adage steered many of my important life choices: my major in university, the travel destinations which I ultimately decided against, and the risks I chose not to take. I played to my strengths but stayed squarely in a safe zone, constructing very polished walls under the guise of dignity.
Do you know what life looks like when you’ve built in entirely on the things in which you excel?
Well, it’s definitely pretty, I can tell you that. Totally esthetically pleasing.
It’s also incredibly boring.
When we don’t push our boundaries, we ultimately are creating a self-limiting space, which eventually becomes very monotonous.
Out of sheer ennui more than enthusiasm, at some point, I started to chip away at my self-constructed walls. With the equivalent of a toothpick. I’d lie if I pretended that I made quick headway. However, I can be incredibly persistent, especially in the face of tedium.
Enter yoga.
Now, this isn’t really a post about yoga—in case anyone is wondering or just fundamentally put off by yoga!
This is a post about play.
In order to really be playing, you have to allow yourself to perhaps look a bit foolish. Or else you become that person no one wants on their team, because they’re both eschewing all risk and being insufferable about things not going their way. Does anyone truly enjoy playing with a sore loser?
When you’re stuck in the midst of perfection paralysis, these same patterns are coming into play (pun totally intended).
I’m sure some of you are familiar with this quote from Eric Hansen (which has been pretty much all over social media): “What if I fall? Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?”
It’s all about mindset, isn’t it?
So back to yoga.
At some point, over a decade ago, I decided to try yoga, as I figured I’d probably be good at it (see what I was doing again?): I was naturally very flexible, and yogis are pretty bendy, aren’t they? It seemed like a natural fit.
Not so much.
It turned out it was hard work, there were tons of things that I couldn’t do and, worst of all, I just didn’t seem to “get” it.
So I dabbled for a while, and eventually almost abandoned it completely, relegating my yoga practice to few and far-between moments, usually alone at home, where I would skip a large part of the poses, because I’d made myself believe that I just couldn’t do them.
Because I wasn’t good at them.
Because what if I fell on my face?
But, so what if I did???
Frankly, I don’t think I had taken the time in a while to ponder that question. And aside from the obvious “I’d look foolish” answer—which, as I was well aware by then, didn’t lead to a very exciting life—I couldn’t really come up with anything.
Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote that “It is a happy talent to know how to play”, and my way to rediscover that talent—which I knew I must possess somewhere, as I’d once been a child like every one of us—has been through “playing” yoga.
And play I did.
By setting forth to see if I would fall on my face—which I’ve done on a regular basis, lest anyone wonder— I’ve pushed boundaries which I wasn’t aware existed, physically and emotionally alike. I’ve had my world turned upside down more than once, both literally and figuratively, and discovered things I wasn’t even seeking.
I’ve also realized that I’m the best possible audience when I make a fool of myself: I will appreciate the effort, relish the surprise, and laugh with abandon. Because that’s the essence of play.
So, tell me, how do YOU play?
