Hands on the floor in front of me, body doubled over and bent in half, balancing on my left leg with my right pointing as high up behind me as I could get it to go without toppling over, sweat dripping down my arms and off my nose, I had an epiphany.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect. Do it the best you can, that’s what you’re looking for.”
And light dawned on marble head.
Everything lately has felt like a test of my barely-existent patience, a challenge to my carefully constructed routines and love of schedules and need for control. I’m overly focused on making everything exactly how I want it, how I “need” it, when instead I need to learn to be okay with doing the best I can. And that “the best I can” DOES NOT have to equal “absolutely perfectly”.
When I let perfect become the enemy of good, I’m doing no one any favors. When I let my desire for perfection stop me from even doing something at all, just in case it’s not perfect, I lose an opportunity to do something well enough for now, and to eventually improve.
This is why I love yoga: all my best A-HA moments lately come coupled with wobbly, stretched out muscles and the fear that falling over is almost imminent. It’s humbling and empowering all at once.