The Art of Falling

On an early Tuesday morning in my yoga class, we were told it was the day to attempt a new pose - Bakasana - The Crow Pose. We sure were excited as we progressed to our first dynamic pose, especially one that always seems a little impressive. The excitement was mixed with a little nervousness. As we began the class, our teacher carefully demonstrated the steps to achieve it—one step at a time. Of course, we weren’t expected to hop into the pose first thing that morning. We spent a good part of the class warming up and gradually preparing our bodies. Every step was done meticulously.

The teacher announced that the class was ready. He said we had the strength, power, stability, and flexibility. But no one dared to attempt the pose. There were nervous giggles and nods indicating a strong no. We had the core strength, but what we lacked was the mental strength. There was something holding us back. It was the fear—the fear of falling.

Sensing this, our teacher smartly changed the course of action. The arm balance was moved further down the agenda. “It’s time to wake up the child within,” he said. “Let’s do some rolls.”

When was the last time we did rolls? Probably some summer vacation years back. But why here and why now? How was this going to help us with balance? Our body and brain had basically forgotten how to swirl, twirl, bend, and roll over, we were told. All we needed was to experience this to get rid of the fear—the fear of losing control, of falling. The next few minutes of class were full of extra joy and laughter as we kept rolling. We placed cushions and pillows under our heads, around us, as we tried different rolls.

As I stepped out of the class, I thought about those summer vacations. The ones I spent with my friends in the park. I was always a sporty child, and the park was my open field. We would run, sprint, jump, roll down the slope, attempt cartwheels, and I sure also wanted to try somersaults. I was one of those children who wore bandaids as a badge of adventure. Weren’t we all more likely to be like that when we were young? Haven’t you all seen children run? I now find it scary how they seem to have absolutely no control over their speed. When did I start calculating these factors? The risks, the threats, the probability of falling?

That is a long list. The more I think about it, I realize how deeply we are conditioned—pros and cons, risks, consequences. We are trained to think through the ideas of action and reaction, action and consequence, in school, work, and life. As adults, we are taught to think of the results first. These mere words and concepts have turned into barriers. I could think of all the fears that have crept in through the process of growing up.

The fear of falling is not limited to a physical pose, but to taking any sort of leap. Be it moving to a different city, taking up a new opportunity, switching careers—jumping into the unknown. A few months back, when I was in Rishikesh, my friends took a small alley that led them closer to the river, with a beautiful panoramic night view. And guess what? I didn’t join them. I saw the small rocky, muddy alley, and my first thought was—what if I slip and fall? Too risky, I told myself. Oh no, I missed this, I thought later, looking at the pictures.

That is what I had been taught—to not take the risky route. Our calculative minds seek safety nets. We feel scared to be in a position where we might not have control. How often do we hesitate to take leaps for the lack of visible safety nets? We stay in our comfort zones, in our little islands, where we know all the lanes and turns. We choose to do things we are already good at.

A few years back, I entered professional life with a clean slate, comfortable with the idea of making mistakes because I was still a fresher. As I progressed in the same field, I became skilled and was always recognized as a strong team member. With every new recognition, my confidence grew—and now I realize, so did the pressure of making a mistake. I remember the first time I messed up at my new workplace and the panic that followed. I stressed and stressed, thinking it was unimaginable what I had done. It took my manager less than five minutes to show me how easily it could be fixed—and how often this actually happened on the team. The fear of failing at work had felt daunting.

And wait—the fear of failing isn’t just at work, but in personal life too. The fear of failing in relationships. And oh, the even bigger fear of rejection. Scary when it comes from someone you dearly want. I’m sure most of you have had a crush at some point. And weren’t you nervous to express your feelings? Was it the fear of how to tell them, or was there an underlying fear of getting rejected? Do we hold back on expressing love, or stop ourselves from loving fully, because of this fear?

Wow. Life is full of fears. In yoga class, in everyday life, at work, in personal relationships. But there has to be a way out of this.

This was my moment of taking a step back, peeling away these layers of fear. And soon, I realized—it isn’t as scary, difficult, or complex as it initially seems.

It’s time to go back to the simple hack from our yoga class. The key is to get comfortable with falling—and failing. No, I’m not saying we should switch off our rational minds. Maybe we just keep them aside for a little while. Perhaps we still use our calculative minds, but create a safe space for ourselves. We can place our little safety pillows around.

How about taking up a new hobby? Something we’ve never tried before. Even better if it’s something we know we’ll probably fail at. And we keep failing at it, over and over, until we realize—it doesn’t matter.

Maybe we go to a park and try a cartwheel. We fall. And that’s it.
Maybe we ask a stranger if they’d like to join us for coffee. Best case scenario, we make a new friend or have a cute date. Worst case? They seem uninterested, say no, or just walk away.

And guess what? Nothing changes.

We walk away and carry on with our day.