Zen and the Art of Handstands

or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Body

I usually think about myself as two distinct entities: my body and my brain.

This is certainly not a new idea. We humans have a long history of thinking this way. Religions emphasize this mind-body duality as the divide between holy soul and mortal flesh. Self-help books will sell you a three-point plan for tricking your body into following your mental goals, using tools like keystone habits and early morning cold showers. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

I absolutely thought my body was worse than my brain. I was not blessed with any impressive athletic talent. In high school, I was mediocre to average at best at all the sports I tried — swimming, running, tennis. Even worse, my body often rebelled at being put through it’s athletic paces: I quit the swim team after a year because repeated chlorine exposure caused a nasty eczema reaction on the skin of my face. I switched to drama after that, and even then only being solidly in the middle of the pack in terms of group choreography performance and vocal ability.

And let’s not forget the unwelcome monthly event that all women have the joy of experiencing. Another example of my body pulling a fast one on me just for the sake of existing. That regular delight of hormone-induced emotional rollercoasters and physical pain.

“You’re just getting in the way, body!”, my mind screams. After all, it’s my mind that got me…