Stupid laurels

Although I am the oldest of my parents’ four children, and the oldest grandchild on my mom’s side, I’ve always been the youngest one doing whatever I was doing.  Because of differences in cut-off ages in schools between Virginia and Texas I was younger than all of my friends in my grade.  Through a series of events having nothing to do with intelligence, I graduated from college six months before I turned 21.  Add to that the fact that I’m a little short person (and therefore look young) and wherever I go and whatever I do people are awed by my accomplishments.

I didn’t realize that I had let other people’s amazement go to my head a bit.  Until now.  I am turning 30 this year and I am no longer the youngest person.  No longer can I rest on the laurels of my assumed precociousness.  The precocious child grows into nothing more than a well-balanced adult.

Like moving away from the glamorous Big Apple, I find that who I am in the world can no longer depend on cheap tricks or sleight of hand.  I feel like a reasonably accomplished person, but that’s not so hard to do at this grand adult age.  Certainly not the same as holding a college diploma and giggling about how you can’t legally drink yet.

One of the things I appreciate so much about my yoga practice is that has nothing to do with my age.  I was never a dancer or a gymnast and, as I am fond of telling people, when I first started I couldn’t even touch my toes.  I had no kind of physical head-start, and as a result I have had to slowly and patiently chip away at my physical limitations.  I have admired (OK fine, envied) the ex-ballerinas and childhood acrobats who have leapt on well-stretched limbs onto the yoga mats beside me.  Yoga is so visually pretty when you can do those amazing things with grace and ease.

After the short flush of green rises into my cheeks then fades I remember that I’m actually lucky to lack those natural physical gifts.  However lazy I’d like to be, however much I’d like to shut down my brain and pose like a glamor queen, the fact is yoga is still hard work for me.  Even the “advanced” poses that I can do require a great deal of concentration.  The humility is profound.  The lesson is not one that you can learn early by being preternaturally clever.

There is something exhilarating by stripping away your pretentions.  If time (the bastard) must pass it’s nice to know that there are exciting discoveries that can only come with age, with time and patience, with an acute lack of interest in praise.

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2 responses to “Stupid laurels

  1. Linda Fitzgerald

    I love that last paragraph! It’s going to be my new guiding principle. You could just as well have said “lack of ego” rather than “lack of interest in praise.” And you’re still ahead of yourself; I’ve only come to these same discoveries recently and I am, ahem, a whole generation older than you!

  2. Your introspective self evaluation has brought all of my similar traits to mind. It has also made me feel lazy for never managing to commit to something deeply enough to chip away. If I can’t do it well right from the start, I have a bad habit of not doing it at all…