Practice. There are times I don't want to.

Times when my mind generates urgency about a thousand other things, like the sudden need to purge files or clean behind the refrigerator.

That voice gets little oxygen these days, but it wasn't always so. Frequently, over the years, just stepping toward my mat would stir the psychic dragons in protest. While my feet headed one way, my mind careened wildly, hurling justifications in my path. I've raised small children, lived with friends, cared for dying parents and sustained too many injuries to count. I've been exhausted, overcommitted, heartbroken and hungover, and sometimes just not given a damn. And, I believe these things are normal, healthy aspects of our relationship with yoga, not indications that we're doing something wrong.

I was lucky to have a teacher who pushed the message -- persistently -- that real progress would remain elusive without some investment on my part. So, I tried. I sat with Light on Yoga next to my mat and attempted to imitate what I saw; I stayed up late to get a few minutes' practice in after the kids went to bed; I got on my mat despite tedium and pain and lapses of faith. Sometimes I couldn't, or didn't. I was too hard on myself, or too easy. But I saw how external challenges were held in place by internal ones, and I came to believe that practice was meant -- at least in part -- to bring the discomfort to the surface. It's not that hard to practice when you're feeling connected or inspired. What's hard is practicing when every fiber of your being campaigns against it, when there's no one around to support or validate your efforts. But somehow it happened, little by little, and I learned to witness those dubious voices without succumbing to them. To stay engaged in a process with myself, despite the presence of boredom, restlessness, doubt. Eventually, I dared not squander what was being given by my teacher, because I had made a commitment. I'm not sure exactly when it occurred, but I think that was the shift from being a consumer of yoga to a practitioner.

By personal practice I'm referring to you, your mat and a roughly three-by-six foot patch of real estate that is not covered in dog hair or dirty laundry. I mean you -- without video, audio, or a phone handy for taking selfies -- struggling to remember what was given in class, being unsure of yourself and seeing how jumpy your mind really is. I mean you, watching as impatience or boredom arise and recede, and I mean you digging deep for that glimmer of faith. Teachers are needed, of course, but a good teacher will ask you to do this work. She has struggled with the same things, and she knows that you will benefit.

No one can tell you what practice will give, but it will.

No one can tell you what practice will give, but it will. Your growth will be personal, it will be intimate, and it will touch a part of you that nothing else can.With quality instruction, you will learn much about yourself. You will question perceived limitations and discover resources you didn't know you had. There is no fast track, no promise of enlightenment and disappointingly few profound insights. You will still lose your temper, overeat and berate yourself occasionally. But at the same time, you will be cultivating a quiet and powerful tool called discernment, and you will, one day, find that you have exactly what you need to wrestle those psychic dragons down to the ground.

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