Push Yourself Up

For the past 2 years, every semester the English Department has published an in-house chapbook called Banter. Since I'm a notoriously undisciplined writer when left to my own devices, I've found that the social pressure to submit pieces to said publication provides nice incentive to write.

This fall, Paul, our department head, provided 9 different college essay prompts to choose from, and asked us to write an essay of not more than 450 words. For the record, this is 448. I've been tossing this piece around in my mind for a while and suspect this incarnation could still use additional tweaking. But here goes...

If you were to look back on your high school years, what advice would you give to someone beginning their high school career? (Simmons College, Essay Prompt 2009)


PUSH YOURSELF UP

At first, she lies prostrate, face down, unmoving. Then she writhes and strains, grimacing in pain, an accusing eye searing into us: stone-hearted sadists, Stasi, tormentors. Pitiful mews crescendo to banshee wails, but she pleads in vain. We are impassive. Her leaden skull lifts fractionally for a split-second, then crashes, face first, to the ground. Torture? No: tummy time.

During tummy time, parents place infants on their stomachs, preventing them from staying in one position. The daily exercise promotes neck and shoulder development, priming the muscles that enable children to roll, sit, and eventually crawl. Constant repositioning, pediatricians opine, promotes infant development, preventing skull-flattening and muscle atrophy. But what doctors don’t divulge is that for many babies, ours included, tummy time is a daily dose of unadulterated hell—initially.

Then, in month 2, we have a breakthrough. One day, we deposit our resentful spitfire onto her quilt for her requisite 15 minutes of tummy torture, chanting, “Go, little girl! You can do it!” But our choleric daughter will have none of it. Her toes claw viciously at the unyielding floor, while her face, a hostile, wrinkled, red walnut, sounds the alarm: “WAAAAHHHHHH--” Suddenly, screeching ceases: arrested, mid-shriek, by silence. Mystified, she looks down to find she’s attained naga-asana, propped on her elbows, chest raised, head erect as a flag. She glances at us, face blossoming with laughter as she savors her newfound equilibrium. In the days that follow, our baby continues to push herself up. And we find her exploring new frontiers, raising a hand off the mat, then shifting to the other, or gleefully rolling, a miniature firkin, barreling from belly to back to belly again.

In yoga, it is said that the faithful practice of naga-asana, the cobra pose, awakens kundalini: a creative, spiritual energy, coiled at the base of the spine, that expands consciousness. In life too, we open new vistas and strengthen ourselves through motion--through struggle, not stasis. Yet we too often gravitate to security, retreating to the comfort of what is easy or familiar, even when it’s detrimental. Sometimes, when we seem to be making no headway, despite our best efforts, we’re tempted to quit or seek refuge in what we do well, imprisoning ourselves by distrusting our power within. Progress and personal growth, however, are never automatic, nor do they spring from luck or talent. Rather, they demand commitment and sustained effort through tribulation. So, when things are tough and obstacles insurmountable, dare. Persevere. Have faith. You’ll never know what you can truly accomplish until you test your boundaries. Brave those challenges, step by step, moment by moment, trial by trial. You were meant to do this. Push yourself up.