What Crow Pose Teaches You About Building Blocks
On strength, stumbling, and the long path to progress
The first time I attempted Crow Pose, I fell flat on my face in a room full of 30 sweaty yogis.
It was late summer in Los Angeles. I’d been practicing yoga regularly for two years, and my ego was hotter than the 100-degree studio.
Somehow, I’d avoided this particular posture—until that fateful class, when I suddenly felt invincible. When the instructor called for arm balances, I moved through the steps quickly, eager to prove something.
I crouched low, hips toward heels. Hands planted, fingers spread wide. Core engaged. Knees pressed to upper arms. I shifted forward, locked my eyes on a window beyond the mat, lifted my feet—and SMACK.
My love affair with Crow ended before it even began.
Because I tried to build the structure before laying the foundation.
Yoga (and Life) Isn’t About the Finish Line
I wish I could say I tried again the next day. But I didn’t.
Crow (or Bakasana) requires strength, flexibility, balance, and patience. I had none of those. I just wanted to tick the box.
Some people pursue yoga for the aesthetic—an Instagrammable headstand or a graceful balance pose. I get it. But over time, I’ve come to see yoga less as a goal, and more as a process.
In March 2023, I recommitted to my practice. I didn’t have a pose in mind—I just wanted to become stronger, more grounded, and more present in my body.
Still, I thought about that first Crow attempt. And I asked myself some hard questions:
Was I really practicing consistently?
Was I preparing for the hard stuff or avoiding it?
Was I afraid of failing in front of others?
The truth was obvious: I never laid the building blocks. I jumped to the finish line without earning it. I assumed that showing up three times a week was enough, but I wasn’t truly there. I was rushing, checking boxes, half-listening to my body.
That’s not how transformation works.
This Time, I Did It Differently
I practiced almost every day.
Some days were hard. Some were just stretching. But I kept showing up—especially for the boring stuff: shoulder strength, core work, weight shifts. I stopped skipping the prep.
For weeks, I played with Crow in class. I didn’t try to “nail” it—I just got familiar. I’d roll forward without lifting my feet, then try lifting one foot, then the other. I made space to wobble. I gave myself permission not to master it.
And then, one day, I held Crow for a full two breaths.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was mine.
I looked up at my teacher and said, “It’s progress.”
She smiled: “Progress over perfection.”
Since then, I’ve practiced Crow many times. Some days I fall out of it. Some days I surprise myself. But I’m no longer afraid of face-planting—because now, I trust the process.
The Pose Is a Mirror
Crow Pose isn’t just a pose. It’s a metaphor for any big, slow, beautiful thing we’re trying to do:
Writing a novel
Starting a business
Learning how to be in a real relationship
Finding your footing again after a loss
None of these things happen overnight. And they shouldn't.
The joy is in the building blocks—the pieces that don’t look flashy, but make everything possible.
The progress is in the showing up.
The growth is in the fall.
And the story? It’s unfolding the whole time, whether or not we feel ready to tell it.
This is the craft of living—and like any good story, it takes time, revision, and courage to return to the mat.