Tonight I’m thinking about those situation in which breathing (inspiring, being inspired) is difficult.

Last weekend, for example, I was paddling out to surf when an unexpectedly big wave crashed right on top of me. I tried to dive under it, but it caught me in its cycle and wouldn’t spit me out. When it finally did, I couldn’t discern which way was up or down. I opened my eyes, and everything was brown. No sign of sunlight. Eventually, I found my way to the top and gasped for air. Another wave crashed just in front of me. I sucked in as much air as possible and dove deep. This time I made it under and easily came to the surface.

In yoga, I often have a hard time breathing when I twist or go into plow pose. My breath becomes short, shallow, and full of effort.

When I’m grieving, I sometimes sob so hard that I cannot stop long enough to take a breath. I often have to calm myself down to take in some air.

When I’m laughing super hard, I sometimes panic because I can’t breathe. I cannot stop laughing, and I cannot breathe. It’s still funny, but I get nervous. Laughing might not be a bad way to die.

Today I couldn’t breathe as I wrote for 11 hours straight. I wasn’t working on fun stuff—I was working on web content. It wouldn’t have been so bad had I not been panicked that all of my creativity and skill-set had left me. I might have been able to breathe if I wasn’t worried about missing my deadline or disappointing my boss.

Sometimes I can’t breathe when I’m worried about money, confused about relationships, or mad about something. Sometimes I can’t breathe when I’m annoyed, exhausted, or overwhelmed. In all of these situations, my inspiration becomes short, shallow, and labored.

So how do I inspire when inspiration is challenging?

How do I breathe when I’m witnessing racism, poverty, and ignorance?

How do I fill my lungs when I’m shrouded in insecurity and uncertainty?

How do I inhale even as I weep and sob?

In surfing, when I’m caught in waves, I’m supposed to relax and go along for the ride. I’m not supposed to find my way out of the wave, I’m supposed to be in it. I’m supposed to lovingly let it have its way with me.

In yoga, I’m supposed to release my muscles, loosen my grip, and, 90 percent of the time, stop squeezing my butt.

In grief, I’m supposed to grant myself being and trust the process. I’m supposed to let the emotions come when they come and go when they go. I’m supposed to let myself be held and consoled.

When I’m laughing, I’m supposed to…well…I don’t really know. I certainly don’t want to stop. Perhaps I’m supposed to get a grip. Nah.

So what about when I’m stuck in my writing and thinking? What about when I’m face to face with hardship? What about when I feel slapped around by life and society?

What if all I have to do is relax, grant myself being, trust the process, and laugh? What if that’s all there is to do to inspire and be inspired when times get tough?

I wonder.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose