There’s a big difference between doing something and practicing it.
Doing implies execution. Practice implies engagement.
Doing implies finality. Practice implies continuity.
There are certain activities that we associate with practice. Daily rituals and observations, movement forms like yoga or Qi Gong, and learning an instrument all fall within this circle.
However, some of the most challenging channels of creation―like painting, sculpting, and writing―are rarely referred to as things we practice. Rather they are things we do, or don’t do.
I’ve never understood why we must “do” writing when we can “practice” the violin; why we must “do” running when we can “practice” yoga. And yet, that’s where the collective perception stands: you either write, or you don’t; you’re either a writer, or you’re not.
This black-and-white perception, in which one must occupy a single side of a definitive line, is one of the most damaging falsehoods in the creative world.
If we must either do or not do, there is no room for us to evolve into ourselves as writers, or to show up authentically as beginners without trepidation. There is no room for practice.
For the benefit of writers everywhere, it’s time to change this.
In his Yoga Sūtras, Patañjali acknowledged the benefits of consistent practice. Sutras 1:13 and 1:14, roughly translated, state, “Practice is the effort to secure steadiness. Perfection in practice comes when one continues to practice with sincerity for a long period of time, without interruption.”*
The same principles can be applied to writing. Expertise and comfort with the writing process can only emerge when we let go of our need to “do” or “not do,” and learn to just be with the art itself.
Applying these and other foundational principles of yoga to writing presents an incredible opportunity for us to release unhelpful patterns of self-sabotage, insecurity, and perfectionism. If we shift our perspective to view writing practice as a goal unto itself―a place to encounter steadiness and sincerity within our art, rather than a means to an end―we can meet our words and ideas on common ground without judgment, and create joyfully, without attachment to result.
Imagine if you could come to the page with the same ease with which you come to your morning rituals; if you could show up every day without worrying about what you are going to produce or achieve. Chances are, it would revolutionize your writing.
So, writer … Are you ready to practice?
Five Lessons that Yoga can Teach Us About Our Writing Practice
Lesson 1: The more you show up, the easier it gets.
A steady, comfortable practice cannot be achieved unless we show up consistently, with dedication and an open mind. Once that comfort is established, we begin to experience the miracle of trust in ourselves and our writing: trust in our minds to seek out the right words; trust in our hearts to reveal our truth on the page; trust in our spirits to share the divine creative spark that ignites our stories and ideas. The more consistently we come to our practice, the more solid a foundation we lay for this trust.
Lesson 2: The inner process is more important than the outer.
Writing practice and personal development go hand in hand. The more we understand about ourselves, our motivations, our fears, and our desires, the more comfortable we become with showing up authentically on the page. This is true whether we write fiction or non-fiction, poetry or textbooks.
Just as yoga is not about contortionism, writing is not, in the end, about perfection of prose. In both cases, what matters is the internal connection the practice facilitates, and the radiance which that connection allows you to bring forth into the world.
Lesson 3: Almost anything will shift if you sit with it compassionately, breathe, and stay present.
In yoga practice, when something feels uncomfortable, we are asked to sit with it, breathe deeply, and patiently allow it to unfold. This concept applies just as beautifully to writer’s block as it does to bodily tension.
When we experience writer’s block, it’s often because a barrier of some sort has been placed between us and our divine creative source. Most of the time, the only way to figure out the how and why of that barrier is to sit quietly with it, and allow it to reveal itself in its own time. The moment we start judging ourselves, our blocks, or our writing, we separate ourselves from the truth of what’s happening in the here and now, and reinforce the very disconnection we’re trying to release.
Lesson 4: When you release your attachment to results, you can meet your reality on neutral ground.
In order to experience growth, we must first admit to and accept exactly where we are.
A beginning yogini may get frustrated by her inability to do a handstand, without understanding that until she develops her arm and shoulder strength, the posture will be unsupported. So, too, may the beginning novel writer be loath to admit that she lacks an understanding of complex sentence structure or the finer points of character development.
Either of these practitioners may achieve their goals without acknowledging their realities. However, the results of their efforts probably won’t live up to their expectations, and they won’t be sustainable over a long period of time. When they inevitably meet with injury, failure, or frustration, these practitioners will face a hard choice: accept where they are and embark on a learning journey, or give up in defeat.
Lesson 5: In practice, there is no failure.
As I wrote earlier, “doing” implies finality, while “practice” implies continuity. When we do something, we finish it, and it’s done. If we do it “right,” our accomplishment stands; if we do it “wrong,” or worse, don’t finish it at all―our ego must bear the brunt of the ensuing guilt. When we are in that energetic space, the fear of failure can be paralyzing.
In practice, there is no end point, only the flow of daily effort. Every time we come to our yoga mats or to our notebooks, we are presented with a new chance for discovery. No matter what chances we take, what questions we ask, or what unintended results we manifest today, we can take comfort in the knowing that there will be a fresh, new page waiting for us tomorrow.
In practice, there is no failure, and there are no mistakes. There is only learning, and breathing, and being.
And that, writer, feels like freedom.
*Sources: https://yogainternational.com/article/view/yoga-sutra-1-13-translation-and-commentary, http://www.swamij.com/yoga-sutras-11216.htm
