I think of myself as someone who loves yoga. I say to my friends, “I should do more yoga. I miss it.” But in reality, I’m a yoga dropout – a person who used to take a yoga class now and then, and now nurses my tight muscles after running and wishes for more hours in the day.
But I still remember a few things from yoga, and I think about them almost every day, years later. The one I like the most is something a teacher used to say when we were in corpse pose at the end of class, eyes closed, trying to let the tension flow from our bodies into the floor. She used to say, “As you release each part of your body, think, ‘What can I give up?'”
What can I give up?
In this age of constant, conflicting, often unsolicited information and advice, of Yelp reviews and 24 hour accessibility, of suspicion brought out in otherwise good people by the complexity and burden of everyday life, it’s a useful question and one we don’t ask ourselves nearly enough.
In our profession, we have to worry sometimes. We need to want to do a good job. But if we worry about ALL of it – if we hold on to ALL of it – if we let it ALL stay with us through the day and into the night – we stagger under the weight and eventually can’t struggle back to standing. We feel dread, guilt, and shame. We absorb and nurture every demon. I see it in the defeated eyes of my colleagues and hear it in their voices. Excellent doctors, who treat every pet as if it were their own, flounder and self-flagellate in the wake of one grouchy client or one small mistake. People with every ability they need to succeed are having that potential success crushed out of them.
So what can you give up?
You can give up the indignation in the clench of your jaw when a client accuses you of upselling and recommending too many tests.
You can give up the heaviness that settles on your shoulders when well-meaning people tell you how they think you should do your job.
You can give up the sadness in the pit of your stomach when someone suggests you don’t care enough.
You can give up the throbbing in your head from feeling under-appreciated by management, the tightness in your back from running late, and the guilt that draws the corners of your mouth down when you realize you are too busy to finish every single call on your list yourself.
You can give all that up, and let yourself relax and remember:
– the first puppy appointment today where a young couple saw in five minutes the power of positive reinforcement and low stress handling
– the card from a client thanking them for being there when they said goodbye to a beloved friend
– the many clients who came and left in just one day without ever thinking twice about whether they should take your advice, believe what you said, or trust you with the care of their best friend; they just did it because you’re you and they can tell how much you care
– and – perhaps most importantly – the reminders of life outside the walls of the clinic or the windshield of the work truck: the sunrise run, that first cup of coffee, fresh strawberries, the sound and smell of horses eating hay in the barn, three unforgettable paragraphs in a book you couldn’t put down, or a good morning kiss from a person you might sometimes be inclined to take for granted.
We can’t hold it all. Choose to let go of the things you know to be without merit. It will be easier, then, to hold tight to the ones that inject color and joy into every day. Stand at the pharmacy counter tomorrow, waiting to see your next appointment, and start from the top of your head and work down – what can you give up?
You’ll be amazed at how much you can let go. Give yourself permission.
