You've Gotta Want It

I'm a goal-setter. I set them annually, monthly, and whenever I need a kick in the pants. I set daily word count goals and deadlines for finishing drafts of novels. I love a good physical goal (one year the goal was to run a triathlon — check that one off the list!). My husband and I even set couple's goals for each New Year. These goals look like, "go out to dinner once a month," or "go camping as a family four times." Luckily, I ended up with a partner as obsessive and goal-oriented as I am.

I don't always reach my goals. Sometimes I stop and reassess, and decide the goal wasn't right for me. The book I was working on gets finished earlier than I had planned, or I decide I no longer want to try to write three books a year. I don't think my husband and I ever came close to that monthly "go out to dinner" goal. What can I say? We have two kids. And despite repeated goals to meditate daily, I've never done more than a few days at a time before I fall off the wagon…er…pillow.

I'm okay with my less than perfect success rate, but I don't disregard my goals thoughtlessly. If they change, there had better be a good reason.

So at the beginning of this summer, I set a goal of kicking up into a handstand. I practice yoga at home, and occasionally, in a studio, and I get green with envy when I watch the more advanced students effortlessly glide gracefully upside down. I can do a headstand, but it hurts my neck, so I don't do it often, and I can do a pose where you rest on your forearms and kick up onto the wall, so I figured I should be able to do the handstand. But whenever I'd tried at home, I wasn't even coming close.

Thus the goal. My time had come. I knew there was something mental about the handstand, and I needed to break through the barrier. I figured setting the goal would help.

I started with a little direct instruction. I met with a yoga instructor who I'd taken classes with in the past. He put me through a workout and tried to get me up onto my hands. Didn't work. He scratched his head, said I had the strength, so there must have been a mental barrier.

Well, yeah! I was terrified to kick up. Not sure exactly why — was I scared of falling? Of collapsing onto my head? I don't know. It wasn't that conscious. Still, the fear had me trapped and firmly on the ground.

All summer long, I practiced. I practiced on the wall at home. I practiced out in our backyard with my daughter the gymnast. I got close, but wasn't there.

I was still scared.

Then, Saturday night, it occurred to me that the summer was almost over, and I hadn't busted through my mental barrier. I was letting the fear win. Now, I'll be honest, it's been a bit of a rough summer. I won't go into details, but let's just say I'm not feeling uber-confident in my ability to conquer the world.

But I'm not a quitter. And I needed this one. I really did.

So I got up to the wall. I told my son to get the camera. If I do this, I told him, you've got to get a picture.

I flailed around. Fell down. Fell sideways. Gave up. Almost quit. But I kept that mantra in my head: YOU CAN DO THIS.

And then, you know what? I did. I tightened everything I had. Threw every bit of strength I had at it. Used my breath. Risked. Told myself I wanted it bad enough, and I was going to do it.

And I did.