Perhaps the best advice my yoga teacher, David Garrigues, ever gave me was “don’t panic.” He offered this counsel as I pressed up into a backbend and immediately began gritting my teeth and hyperventilating. Not surprisingly, neither of these did anything to improve the pose, hence David’s admonition. Thanks to his words, however, I was able to slow my breathing down and relax, at least a bit.
Point being: most of us are very impatient, especially when it comes to experiencing discomfort. At the first sign of something uncomfortable, we begin frantically searching for an escape; it’s our biological “flight” mechanism in action. And while this probably served us well when that discomfort was a saber-toothed tiger with designs on us for dinner, it’s not so useful when all that threatens us is a little physical challenge, or boredom, or a problem whose solution isn’t readily apparent.
Take, for example, what routinely happens during the writing process. I find myself stuck halfway down a problematic sentence; immediately, I incline towards surfing the internet or opening the refrigerator to graze for carrots—anything to avoid feeling the uncomfortable feelings I’m feeling: self-doubt, embarrassment, and fear, a low-level panic that raises the hairs on the back of my neck and has me shouting inwardly, “Get out now! Run, you fool, run!” although not in those words.
Usually, I respond to these feelings as expected, which is why it typically takes me all morning to write two paragraphs and why we go through carrots so quickly in our household.
What’s sad is that I know if I just allow myself to sit for a moment with the feelings, they’ll pass. If I refrain from panicking, I’ll eventually find my way out of the corner I’ve backed myself into. Instead of wildly seeking solace via the internet or refrigerator, I just need to look within.
Of course, that means confronting my panic head-on, but if I’m patient, I can do so.
Point being: most of us are very impatient, especially when it comes to experiencing discomfort. At the first sign of something uncomfortable, we begin frantically searching for an escape; it’s our biological “flight” mechanism in action. And while this probably served us well when that discomfort was a saber-toothed tiger with designs on us for dinner, it’s not so useful when all that threatens us is a little physical challenge, or boredom, or a problem whose solution isn’t readily apparent.
Take, for example, what routinely happens during the writing process. I find myself stuck halfway down a problematic sentence; immediately, I incline towards surfing the internet or opening the refrigerator to graze for carrots—anything to avoid feeling the uncomfortable feelings I’m feeling: self-doubt, embarrassment, and fear, a low-level panic that raises the hairs on the back of my neck and has me shouting inwardly, “Get out now! Run, you fool, run!” although not in those words.
Usually, I respond to these feelings as expected, which is why it typically takes me all morning to write two paragraphs and why we go through carrots so quickly in our household.
What’s sad is that I know if I just allow myself to sit for a moment with the feelings, they’ll pass. If I refrain from panicking, I’ll eventually find my way out of the corner I’ve backed myself into. Instead of wildly seeking solace via the internet or refrigerator, I just need to look within.
Of course, that means confronting my panic head-on, but if I’m patient, I can do so.
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