My mother used to say that if there was a hard way to do something, I would find it … then decide it was too hard and give up or not “apply myself” to finish the best I could.
At least in the United States, we are taught that everything from rest to fortunes are only deserved if they’re hard-earned. If something comes easily, then it’s not good. We don’t deserve it. This thinking has been elevated to religion for a lot of people: they worship at the altar of effort.
In fact, we often feel lazy if something is easy. And yet I find myself often encouraging students to look for the ease in their yoga postures. When we live a life that is really in flow, each day feels like an organic unfolding of the last.
This brings me to my question today…
Is Effort Ever Good?
I’m over-simplifying, of course, but it’s worth considering. I feel like I’m forever reading (and making) memes that laud the virtue of ease, so I have to wonder when effort is right? When is it called for?
As I contemplated this question, I looked where I often do: the yoga mat. I’ve practiced (and led) many very challenging classes. I have been wobbly. I have fallen out of balances and even (unintentionally) over-stretched or strained.
But there is a balance, isn’t there?
Without any tension, we’d quite literally fall over. No tension, and we can’t breathe. Too much tension… and we still can’t breathe. Or eat. Or speak. Or even sit.
In yoga, as in basic physiology, we engage what needs to be engaged and relax as much as possible. So there’s a back-and-forth. We sit into Utkatasana (Chair Pose), flex the quadriceps, engage the core, but soften the toes. We reach through the finger tips but find ease in the shoulders. It’s a million micro adjustments every moment, most of which are completely sub-conscious.
We lower from Phalakasana (Plank) to Chaturanga Dandasana (Four-Limbed Staff Pose, a.k.a. “Half Push-up”) as engaged as possible without putting pressure on the wrists or tensing the jaw or neck.
And, above all, we breathe.
Which Effort is Right?
When you say “yoga” to most people, they probably picture svelte white women in sports bras and leggings twisting themselves into pretzels. Or maybe they picture someone (usually still female and often still white) standing on their hands or blissfully smiling in the splits — a leg on each side of a river or ravine.
I know a few folks who can do that stuff (many of them svelte, white and female), but those things are just gymnastics if they lack breath, concentration and intention.
So let’s start with the yoga part…
The highest practice in Patañjali’s Eight Limbs, Samadhi, has nothing to do with physical strength or flexibility and everything to do with mastering the mind. A physical yoga practice is only worthwhile if it helps to deepen and cultivate that mastery. So rather than linking our time on the mat to the limb of Asana, we should rather link it to Pratyahara (removal of the senses), Dharana (single-pointed concentration) and Pranayama (breath control).
You see, in ancient terms, Asana really just meant holding a strong seat in meditation. If you can do that, there’s not much need for the rest. I’ve written and talked about this a lot in my videos and posts, but what I most-appreciate about the Yoga Sutras is that if you can truly embody any one of its principles, then there’s no need to continue. The first Sutra, “Now the practice of yoga begins,” stands alone. Everything that comes after is elaboration and clarification. I can imagine the sage Patañjali addressing his pupils: “that’s not enough? well… okay… yoga is the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind.” (That’s the second Sutra.)
His disciples were probably as confused by this as you or I, so he goes on for nearly 200 more.
All this to say the first “right effort” in a yoga practice is mental. Put the baseline of your effort into deepening concentration and clarity.
Now how about the body part…
I’ve seen a lot of floppy Chaturangas and mis-aligned Triangles. I’ve seen people so concerned with grabbing their own foot that they contort their spines. Once, a student dislocated their shoulder in my class (“it just pops out sometimes,” they said, nonplussed) because they were trying to force their body into a shape.
The right physical effort comes from a place of grounding, steady breath. The next time you come to the mat, try this: find a pose that’s easy for you and that you’re comfortable holding for awhile. It can be Mountain Pose (Tadasana), Down Dog (Adho Mukha Svanasana) or even Cat (Marjaryasana) or Cow (Bitilasana).
The point is to find the shape and breathe there. Spend time in it. Ten breaths or so. Observe how it evolves as you energize your connection to the mat, as you steady your breath, as you simply explore-with-curiosity your own inward experience of the outward shape.
It is that inward experience with which yoga in concerned. And it is that inward experience that will inform where you go next. Maybe you’re holding Extended Side Angle (Utthita Pārśvakoṇāsana), and you notice that something softens and releases on its own. Maybe that allows you to effortlessly thread your top arm behind your back and capture the hip crease of the bent leg.
Not because you’re reaching for a shape but because you’re opening into a practice.
So Now What…?
Refining Effort & Evolving Practice
So of course my mother was right: I did always find the hard way. But what my 30+ years of yoga practice are teaching me is that effort is the tool and, like any tool, you can use it well or you can use it poorly.
If you hand a skilled artist a crayon, they can create a beautiful work of art. Give the most expensive oil paints to a novice, and it’ll look like a kindergartener made it.
The effort is in service of the skill. And with the skill, comes the result.
Nothing that appears in this blog or on this website is intended to treat or diagnose any disorder, physical or otherwise. Always consult a physician before beginning any exercise program.