Baby on Feet, Mommy on Hands

My daughter stands up, finds her balance, feels the earth with her whole feet — toes, heels, toes, heels — takes a step. Another, another...maybe even four more steps. And then falls on her tushie. Sometimes she gets back up and tries it again. Sometimes she's all done for the time being. I never see a glimmer of discouragement. Not even a hint.

I'm not sure if she has a destination. When I read her face after she has stood up, as she's taking steps, after she's plopped down on the floor, I see a human who's just digging on the thrill of not quite knowing what the steps will eventually get her. She knows we smile and clap; she knows that each step brings her closer to one of us. And sometimes I see her practicing on her own, with back turned to us. But I don't think she's thinking much farther ahead of the next step, for each time she falls or decides to stop trying, her face maintains serenity. Complete satisfaction with herself, either way. Wise, wise child.

She is teaching me yet another lesson.

Lately, I can find handstand. I wish I could somehow type that sentence in ethereal letters — I know that such asanas come and go. But then I think, why should handstand be any different than a pose like Vrksasana? It was hard to balance on my feet in this pose when I first started practicing many years ago. Seems like handstand should eventually find its way into muscle memory...

Anyway, today was not a solid handstand day.

I should say — and this will come as no surprise to my readers — that Utkatasana doesn't get the full focus that it deserves. Why? Because I'm thinking about handstand. And I do this every day, so today was no different. And on most days, I take a leap of faith and a deep breath, and I find myself in handstand, breathing and hanging out. And my body often doesn't know how it got there. Not yet, at least.

But today, I had fear. I know exactly why I had it, which is promising. But, still, it was there.

So I kept trying, and trying, and trying. Several minutes in the middle of my practice. I went back to Utkatasana, and then jumped up. Either too little power, or too much (went over into backbend once). I went to the wall — just knowing the wall was there gave me the peace of mind to jump up without even touching it, no problem. But back to my mat...and I couldn't find it. Back to the wall — there it was again. I decided to move on, with a sigh in my heart...

Here's the thing, short and sweet: It's good to keep trying. It's good. But I could take a lesson from my child: try and let go. And if I'm going to keep trying, let go. And if I decide that I'm not going to keep trying, let go. Let go and then move on to the next asana. Release from the expectation, the destination, the ego, the next step... Eventually, my body will know where it's going.

For now, I could just enjoy the sweetness of paralleling my journey with hers. The books never talked about this part...