My step-father called me chubs and laughed at me when I tripped over my own feet. I wasn’t the kind of person who could work hard enough to be good at something. Knowing what I know now about the tripwire of sudden poverty and all that. At 6 or so, I wasn’t showing enough commitment to justify the expense. I didn’t practice enough, my mother said. I feel a pressure that there will be a judgement made by someone sometime in the future.Īfter a few weeks of after school dance lessons, I wasn’t allowed to go with my friends anymore. It is a personal connotation that is absurdly difficult for me to get past. So part of me still bristles at the phrase yoga practice, meditation practice. Practice in my mind is inherently connected to expectations of improving, mastering: moving towards an eventual performance of some sort. I would spend afternoons (trying to find ways of getting out of) practicing tap dance routines, and plies.
When I was a kid I would practice the flute. I’ve even looked up the word practice and all that I lay into that word isn’t there in the denotation. I’m looking for a way to make all the blah blah rhetoric mean something to me personally, when I keep having knee-jerk responses to words like practice and journey again and again. Lately I have been getting stuck on words like “practice” when they pop up in my mind. I’m not doing all that well in terms of my – what? – serenity practice? Yeah, I am not doing as well as I would like in terms of my compassion meditation and practice. I also use it as an excuse to feign frustration over not being able to do morning yoga in the living room – ignoring the fact that there is plenty of room in the house to accommodate Warrior 3. Though I’m honestly a little resentful that he can nap during the day. I am grateful I got a flu shot this winter. has slept in a half-reclining position on the couch for 3 nights now.
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