I can see this question being interpreted in two ways;  the first way brings an emphasis to the “could not” portion of the question, essentially asking, what would you do if it was impossible to fail?  Here, the idea is that the universe offers its unwavering support, holding you safe in its warm, cupped hands.  The promise is unconditional nurturing.  This question is fantastic (as in, rooted in fantasy) because it assumes the guaranteed achievement of a certain idea of success.  It’s outcome-oriented.

The second interpretation that comes to mind is more about the “not fail.”  What would you attempt to do if, whatever the outcome, it were not a failure?  This question is realistic and worthy of consideration because it gives us a greater sense of agency, giving us the choice against failing.  Can you detach from any expectations and embrace whatever happens as not a failure, but simply a thing that happened?  Are you able to take each endeavor and love it into something useful, or even great?  This interpretation is process-oriented, and you are in control.

Last night in my 1A class, we played Hot Spot.  My version (there are several) starts out with someone jumping into the center of the circle and initiating a song. Everyone else immediately gets on board and sings along until someone new tags out the person in the center and initiates a different song.  At one point we got into a commercials kick, culminating in an extra-long rendition of Subway’s “Five Dollar Footlong” jingle. When we debriefed the activity, one woman mentioned that partway through that song, she wanted to start chanting “barbecue sauce” but held back because she didn’t think it was appropriate.  Right away, everyone chimed in that they would have thought it brilliant, that they wish she had taken the step to do it.  Her choice to hold back didn’t result in her ruining the scene, but it did keep things from getting really interesting.

When you let go of the fears and desires of your ego, when you make the selfless move and do something because it genuinely feels like the right thing to do in that moment, you bring a richness and texture to the scene that enhances the experience for all.  The temptation is to play it safe and ask yourself the question, “Will my efforts result in failure?”  Instead just be there, engaged in the moment, and do the thing that answers the question, “How can I best love whatever exists right now?”  This is what it means to make the choice to not fail.

To build a scene, you have to accept. To build anything onstage, you have to accept what the other improviser initiates on stage. They say you’re doctors—you’re doctors. And then, you add to that: We’re doctors and we’re trapped in an ice cave. That’s the “-and.” And then hopefully they “yes-and” you back.

I loved this because, WTF, doctors trapped in an ice cave?  It’s an example that sounds so stupid to most people.  It’s only funny because it’s dumb, right?  That’s the end of the joke, right?  There’s nowhere to go from here — scrap it!

Well, no; this could be the beginning of something interesting, if you just let it exist without judging it.  What?  How?  Well, consider the following story:

At the high school I went to, the administrative building was right smack in the middle of the quad where we would hang out during our breaks.  One of my friends, climbing the seemingly endless steps up to the main doors, tripped about halfway up.  Rather than succumbing to embarrassment, he artfully tumbled up the rest of the steps, stood tall once he got to the landing, and brushed his shoulders off, all without flinching or looking back to see how people were reacting.  It was fantastic, it was interesting and the onlookers definitely dug it.

Whatever happens, happens.  If you judge it, it’s stupid.  If you play with it, it’s brilliant.

Can you think of any examples from life, TV, movies, etc., that illustrate this point?  Feel free to share in the comments!

Then, we sit on the floor and get into supported supta baddha konasana.  The practice begins.  Here are the thoughts that ran through my mind during prenatal yoga training.

• Okay, I am imagining a pure, gold light flooding my heart.  Imagine one in my belly, too, where the baby’s heart is?  This is so beautiful!  My baby!
• Chanting is great! I wish I were pregnant so I could just chant in yoga all the time, with this warm, golden glow in my chest.
• Sitting up, legs crossed, leaning forward… to the side… back… to the other side… Pregnant yoga is awesome!  I want to be pregnant so I can just sit on the floor all the time and make circles.  Yes, I will gladly go the other way.
• Clearing all the props off the mat is annoying, but I am willing to do so because it means we will get to make more circles.  On my hands and knees, gyrating like we would with a hula hoop…

At this point, one of the women exclaims “this action is what got me here in the first place!” and we all crack up.

• Getting up off the floor is hard!  If I were pregnant, I would just spend all my time on the floor.
•  My back hurts.  I have to burp.  This baby is IN MY WAY.
• It takes me forever to get into a lunge because this baby is IN. MY. WAY.
• My knees are hyperextending in this forward fold.  Taking my feet far apart is not helping.  This BABY is IN MY WAY.

Every now and then we stand upright as the teacher explains the benefits of different postures.  There is a good amount of belly dancing as she talks.  Bouncing the blanket belly around can be fun.  Then we get back to the practice.

• THIS BABY IS IN MY WAY.
• Why does anyone bother to do anything at all when they’re pregnant?  Everything takes so much effort and time.  I just want to stay on the floor.

At some point, we get on the floor and do some stuff that might be a bit too graphic to share. 

• THISBABYISINMYWAY.  THISBABYISINMYWAY.  THIS.  BABY.  IS.  IN.  MY.  WAY.
• I never want to be pregnant.

We end the same way we started, in supported supta baddha konasana.  To close the practice, the teacher says something beautiful and full of imagery and we chant om.

• THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL I WANT A BABY

I’ve had my own insecurities about teaching.  I’m relatively new to it, and constantly learning what works, what doesn’t, what’s confusing and what resonates with students.  I try to remember that I’ll only get better if I practice, and practicing means I have to do the work knowing that I’m far from perfect.  In an ideal world, every teacher would be amazing at what they do, but nobody is born with all the skills and knowledge to be awesome.  It takes time, and the willingness to make mistakes, and even fail.  Many teachers ask themselves, at some point or another, who am I to get up in front of all these people and tell them what to do?

As much as the woman’s comments really shook me, they also forced me to reexamine why I do what I do, and whether I have any right to teach.  On one hand, I am not the world’s foremost expert in all things yoga.  I know a lot more than many people who practice asana, but I’m still discovering deeper and more subtle things about it every day.  On the other hand, one can look at any person or situation as a teacher; as long as the student is open to examining his or her experiences, and has the discernment to know what is a valuable lesson and what isn’t, even the most flawed teacher can impart valuable lessons.  How much of the experience is the teacher’s responsibility, and how much is the student’s?

In each moment, all we can offer is our best effort.  Even if it’s not much, if you have a thorough understanding of what you’re doing and why, and are able to be authentic in your delivery, it’s something.  While I still have a lot to learn about philosophy, anatomy, etc., I can honestly say that I’m at a place where, even though I don’t have all the answers, I am able to help people be curious, and I can point the way to better and deeper answers than I can give at this moment.  I know enough about alignment and classroom management to keep students safe, and I try to share enough to help them be curious.  Is this good enough?  I don’t know, but it is the best I can do right now.

Improvisation, it is a mystery. You can write a book about it, but by the end no one still knows what it is. When I improvise and I’m in good form, I’m like somebody half sleeping. I even forget that there are people in front of me. Great improvisers are like priests; they are thinking only of their God.

- Stéphane Grappelli

Immerse yourself, play with devotion, and let it be what it is.

For many of us, feelings of nervousness makes us feel paralyzed.  We interpret it to mean we’re not ready to do whatever it is we are confronting.  But read it differently: read it to mean that you want to do well but are not sure what the outcome will be.  Then do the best that you can at that moment.  Even the best-laid schemes sometimes fall apart.  You can’t count on things turning out perfectly, but you can certainly have the satisfaction of knowing that you challenged yourself and made your best effort.  The whole process is more fun when you decide early on to just do your best, even if you end up failing, than if you spend the entire lead-up stressing out and succeed in the end.

Be aware of your nervousness, but don’t be controlled by it.

The 40-30-40 Rule: Why Risk is Worth It
Take a risk and step outside of your comfort zone.  Yes, risk=discomfort, but discomfort=growth.  Challenge yourself and you will be rewarded for it.

Celebrate Your Lack of Plan
Having a plan is comfortable, but when you let go of the idea that you need one before you start something, you open yourself up to opportunities you never would have imagined.

And finally…

Tim Brown, CEO of IDEO, on creativity and play.  Let go of judgment and just do stuff.

Hello, my name is Lisa.  I teach improv.  I spend much of my time telling my students to make a choice, any choice, but in my own life I stall and stagnate.  It is better to make a choice and have it not go the way you think it will, I tell them, than it is to stand on the sidelines waiting for all the stars to align before you do something.  It goes faster if you change your own position to get yourself in line with the stars.  Create your own conditions for success.  Invest yourself in what you do, I say, and things will turn out okay.  Take one step, and then take another, and keep going like that.

And then I go home and watch The IT Crowd, which is a great show, but I’ve watched all the episodes already.  I go home and watch things I’ve already watched.  Because I am biding my time, waiting for inspiration before I do something useful with my life.

Yes, I am a hypocrite.  And I hate hypocrisy, so I am going to change this about myself.  Now.  But I need encouragement, so I turn to my favorite self-help guru, Epictetus.

The first steps toward wisdom are the most strenuous, because our weak and stubborn souls dread exertion (without absolute guarantee of reward) and the unfamiliar.  As you progress in your efforts, your resolve is fortified and self-improvement progressively comes easier.  By and by it actually becomes difficult to work counter to your own best interest.

By the steady but patient commitment to removing unsound beliefs from our souls, we become increasingly adept at seeing through our flimsy fears, our bewilderment in love, and our lack of self-control.  We stop trying to look good to others.  One day, we contentedly realize we’ve stopped playing to the crowd.