Surrender

Surrender

By Kristi Cruise

There was once a yoga class I taught called Surrender.
It was always the quietest on the schedule, tucked between the more popular power flows and sculpt sessions.
People used to skip it, assuming they’d get more out of something harder, sweatier, faster.
I get that now—how surrender can look like giving up when it’s really the beginning of freedom.

I used to think surrender meant letting go of control.
Now I think it’s more like letting go of the illusion of control—
the exhausting upstream paddling that keeps us busy but rarely gets us anywhere new.
Sometimes I can almost hear the river whisper, “You could rest now, you know. I can carry you farther than you think.”
I’m starting to believe it.

Lately, life has been reminding me that my oars are optional.
The more tightly I grip them and paddle, the more tired I become.
And yet when I finally release, when I let the current take me—the world rearranges itself with an ease I could never have planned.
Doors open, words flow, healing finds me.
Maybe that’s the secret: surrender isn’t passive. It’s an act of profound trust.

I don’t mean blind faith or careless floating. 

Let Go of the Oars.

I mean the kind of surrender that knows the water might be rough,
but also knows I can float—that I was built to float.
It’s the soft strength of exhaling in the middle of chaos and saying, “Even this is part of it.” Even when I get water in my mouth. 

So this is my new sankalpa: Surrender.
To stop paddling toward control and start moving with what is.
To trust that the river knows the way even when I don’t.
To rest in the knowing that there is beauty, even purpose, in every bend, every swirl, every fall of water.

We live in a wild, unpredictable world.
Plans dissolve, seasons shift, people change, and sometimes we’re left holding nothing but our breath.
But maybe that’s where grace begins:
in the pause between letting go and being carried.