Evolution of a Practice
My once hard, sweaty, HIIT style, six-pack cultivating (and maybe competitive) yoga practice is now mostly soft, blanket-covered, breath-centered, quiet meditation. Both versions are sacred and transformative.
noun: practice — the actual application or use of an idea, belief, or method, as opposed to theories relating to it.
verb: practice — perform an activity or a skill repeatedly or regularly in order to improve or maintain one’s proficiency.
I used to think that a practice must be military-inspired in time, timing, routine, effort, all for now — presence. I’ve come to believe that ’practice’ is synonymous with ‘evolution.’
That change in belief inspired a revision to my definition of presence — it’s not just about the now, as presence is a prerequisite for evolution and evolution implies becoming — future. So now, to me, presence is equivalent to a more evolved, future present me. What?
Many of us begin to practice — yoga, breath work, meditation, tai chi, chi gong, etc — as a form of injury rehabilitation, stress relief, prenatal support, because we love the pants… Then the practice surprises us. It feels good. It heals. It strengthens. Maybe it shows us sparks, or fireworks, of magic. We may not even be sure why, but we keep coming back for more.
Often, when just beginning to practice, we gravitate toward a certain style and stick to it like gospel. I believe that each method was designed to perfection, and works as it’s meant to when followed as prescribed.
But as our practice evolves and advances, we find ourself assimilating knowledge gained from the masters and discovering our own innate wisdom to infuse into our new mindset and lifestyle.
We gracefully make connections that didn’t seem to be there before. We learn to see, both inside and out, for ourselves — and along with that fresh clarity and perspective comes the capacity to create our own practice, to write our own prescription, to define our rituals, which likely differ wildly from that of the person on the next mat or meditation cushion, and even from the person who was on our mat yesterday.
If asana, the physical aspect of yoga, is our chosen tool (as it is for many of us), we practice and practice and practice until we progress, until we shed unnecessary attachments and transcend harmful patterns, until we’re able to live more honestly, gently, lovingly.
And within that honest space of gentle love is the potential to experience shifts, epic and minute, in our practices. We may cut out the militant rigor and precision which, whilst ensuring we’ll stay on the path, sometimes inhibit us from seeing beautiful alternate routes. In the confines of our chosen direction or self-created sequences, we’re establishing habits, deepening neural pathways, becoming our thoughts and thinking what we’ve become.
So, how has my practice evolved? Tons, and none at all. It always has and still does feel like coming home, but my homecoming constantly changes — it’s a reflection of my physical, mental, and spiritual state, which thankfully are in eternal flux. And, brilliantly, yoga and similar paths teach us to be adaptable. Having the understanding and courage to deviate from my once stringent routine, after years of adhering to it, I recognized that I’d become adaptable in my capacity to listen to (and truly hear) what my mind and body need, and to adjust my practice to nourish that.
It was revolutionary to realize that we are able to do what we need instead of what we think we should. Satya (the yogic version of truthfulness) becomes important — in being truthful with ourselves regarding our needs in each unique moment. Ahimsa (non-harming) becomes accessible — we no longer need to push so hard. Asteya (non-stealing) seems obvious — we understand that it’s not a competition.
Deviating from my precious practice, unchanged for so long, was challenging — a surrender, a letting go, a loss. But by the time I was ready to enter this chrysalis, I was equipped with the philosophy and the deep knowing I needed to maintain a strong belief in the practice to which I had long since committed. It had carried me to where I needed to be, in order to emerge as the me I am now — the future, present evolved me.
This me asks, each time I come to practice, why am I practicing NOW? The answer is no longer, “Because I practice everyday at this time, this way.” Whatever the answer is, the practice responds — and a sweaty HIIT inspired flow is still fine, but so is a cozy, blanket-covered meditation — which can be even more powerful than the six-pack cultivating variation.
Why do you practice NOW? Is your answer reflected in your practice?
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