My life, in the course of recent years, has been tied in with reclassifying the words "vulnerable" and "courageous."
I grew up supposing I was particularly one and by no means the other.
I thought vulnerable implied frail, and for a considerable length of time I genuinely thought I was.
I thought since I was a restless individual with an overactive (fanatical/urgent) personality, this made me amazingly feeble. I figured I couldn't in any way, shape or form be courageous on the grounds that I stayed away from things I regarded excessively troublesome or unnerving. At that point I began working with a psychological well-being proficient who (alongside yoga, drug, and my very own diligent work) transformed me.
She was the principal individual who at any point caused me to understand that my difficulties with emotional well-being did not make me feeble; they really made me solid. She likewise caused me to acknowledge that I was so daring to put in such a great amount of work to recuperate myself. That is the point at which I began accomplishing more and imagining less, and having the vulnerability and boldness to "appear and be seen," despite the fact that I had "no power over the result." My blog is one way I do this. Embracing is another. Yoga instructor preparing was one more. Furthermore, presently training yoga is also.
It dawned on me the other day, as I was preparing to teach my Wednesday 5:00 class, that yoga classes are a bunch of people wearing very tight clothing, twisting and balancing, breathing audibly, setting intentions, finding stillness, and being okay with having their eyes closed for an extended period of time while in a group setting. Sounds like everyone is being pretty damn vulnerable! And courageous! And despite me acknowledging their vulnerability and bravery, I can’t tell you how scary it is for me to get up in front of the class and lead them.
It wasn’t just scary the first time, it is scary EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. What if they hate my music? What if I fumble all of my words the entire class? What if they don’t understand the cues I’m giving? What if I talk too much? What if my guided meditation makes people feel confused instead of relaxed? And yet I keep coming back, even though I don’t know the answers to any of these questions and maybe never will. Because the answers really don’t matter. I’m choosing to be vulnerable and courageous, and so are the people on their mats in front of me, and together we are a part of a community of people who are showing up and being seen, and that is a beautiful thing.
Whether you call it “wearing your heart on your sleeve” or “being an open book” or “putting yourself out there” or “baring your soul,” it all boils down to the same thing. When you are vulnerable, you open yourself up to judgement, criticism, heartache, and failure. People who willingly open themselves up to these painful things are truly courageous, and I’ve always believed that. It’s scary when you take wild leaps towards thing for which you have no control over the outcome: relationships, business ventures, parenthood, travel, among many other things. However, I also believe, more than ever, that there is more to be risked by NOT taking those scary wild leaps. Helen Keller said, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all,” and one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, posed the question, “Tell me what it is you plan to do with your one precious and wild life?”
What do I plan to do? I plan to risk judgement, criticism, heartache, and failure in the effort to show up, be seen, and achieve every single one of my dreams. And I hope you do, too.
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