A bit of ease

Zoe Costa, Age 7

I don’t know about you, but often these days, I get tired with a capital t. I also find myself trying – hard.

I’m trying to pay attention to the computer screen. I’m trying to write. I’m trying to have the energy to practice. I’m trying to carve out time for myself to go for a walk or to just think. I’m trying to be upbeat and positive for my family and to answer phone calls from my friends, when I really just want to crawl back under the covers and pretend the day isn’t happening.

Some days it feels like every little thing takes so much effort.

I don’t always notice when it’s happening, but when I find myself in the circle of never-ending effort, I pause. I allow my breath to go in and out on its own, and I marvel that I don’t have to try to make that happen. I think about the ground – and gravity – and I realize that I don’t have to expend any effort to keep myself on the floor.

I get curious, and I ask myself some simple questions – and let my body find the answers.

I let my hand rest lightly at the base of my neck, feeling my collarbone. “I wonder what it would be like if I didn’t have to hold my arms on my body?” I ask, knowing full well that they were never in any danger of flying away on their own, but noticing that I often hold on to them as if they might.

I feel the stability of the chair beneath me and I muse, “what would it be like if I didn’t have to hold myself up on my chair?” I rest my hands lightly on my thighs, and then shift my perspective to realize that my thighs are supporting the palms of my hands, and I feel a little release in my lower back - a slight softening of my lumbar curve.

I’m curious what it would be like to explore that same perspective shift while holding my oboe? Would I feel my oboe supporting my hands? Is that even possible?

I make a note to experiment with it later.

I bring my hand up to my face, allowing it to shape to the contour of my cheekbone and jawline. I wonder what it would it be like to not have to hold my jaw on my head? My body answers by allowing my jaw to release, and my tongue to float down and loll forward a bit, like soft, expanding dough.

Just simple questions that I don’t have to answer.

I just ask, and let my body respond.

Can I release a little bit? Not a ton, not to try to relax, just to soften, to find a little ease, to notice when I am controlling what is naturally already being taken care of, without needing any effort from me.