Our collective stories have three stages: a beginning, a middle, and an end. Beginnings “hook” you, they say. They invite you to keep reading. They tend to have a lot of promise packed into a small space, leading you into what will happen next. Beginnings, in writing, are exciting. In life, they can be painful, albeit terrifying.
More often than not, beginnings follow an end. And if that end was not something you needed or wanted, beginnings can feel overwhelming. You aren’t ready to move on. You’re longing to be back where you were, where it was comfortable, warm, predictable. Beginnings coax you out of a sense of safety that you were never going to leave. Beginnings can have the full force of a sharp push out of the nest. Again and again and again.
But you can’t jump into a big pile of October without turning the calendar away from September. You can’t fly if you’re not willing to leave the ground. The first leap can be scary. The unknown is daunting.
Beginnings happen more than we think. We begin each day and often we’re happy to see that day end. We start each week, either begrudgingly (see: Sunday Scaries) or with a sense of renewal. Seasons change with a distinct buzz: spring for renewal, summer for nurturing sunlight, fall for the harvest of what we planted in the spring, and winter brings hibernation: much needed rest, recharge, and reflection.
These beginnings happen on their own. They’re passive. We either dive in and embrace them or we complain and resist. So how can we set ourselves up to embrace all beginnings, perceived good or bad? What is the secret ingredient to starting over without a chip on your shoulder, so eager for familiarity and knowing?
There is no easy button. Beginnings can require major growth, vulnerability, upheaval. But if we aren’t willing to yawn ourselves into spring to start planting our seeds, we will never get to harvest what took all summer to cultivate. Therein lies the buy in for loving a beginning: it feeds us.
In our yoga practices, we talk a lot about arriving. This can mean physically getting to your mat, but also arriving mentally. Imagine you are at the start of a yoga class that you had to drag yourself to. You’re tired, grumpy, and just want to go home and veg, but somehow you arrived. That beginning can feel so out of tune with where you are. But as you work through the start, you begin to feel the lethargy and bad attitude melt. You work up a sweat, and realize that was exactly what you needed. By the time savasana arrives, you are renewed. Your entire mental picture has shifted. Pushing through a hard beginning produced a much-needed middle and end full of rejuvenation.
We are creatures of habit and many times, we live life like we’re searching for endless happiness. But that’s not why we’re here. Life is a series of ups and downs and sideways tilts
and surprises, constantly asking us to bend. So are beginnings. They are full of uncomfortable moments, but in these times, what you’re feeling are growing pains. Keep pushing through. The hard work and determination you use to get past the beginning most often comes back tenfold.
Author: Sarah Ronau, Tahoma, CA