By Mel Weiss

There is no novel that has shaped my way of thinking more than John Steinbeck’s East of Eden. The weight of the novel rests on the translation of one word: timshel. Lee, a principal character in the novel, is fascinated by divergent translations of timshel in the Old Testament. In the American Standard translation of the Bible, Lee finds that timshel has been translated: “thou shalt.” In the King James translation, timshel has been translated: “do thou.” But as Lee later discovers, the root of the Hebrew word means choice: “thou mayest.” For Lee, timshel “…might be the most important word in the world….For if ‘Thou mayest, it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ ”(1)

The meaning of timshel disrupts the notion that all things are predetermined. It calls upon our capacity to change our behavior and refuses any notion that our paths are set. “[T]hink of the glory of the choice!” Lee exclaims.(2)

But thinking about choice is far from enacting it. Alexander Technique has offered me a means of putting the idea of choice into physical practice. In Body Learning, Michael Gelb places great importance on choice, explaining, “The most fundamental form of misuse is the failure to make choices.”(3) According to Gelb “The body is our instrument for fulfilling our purpose on earth. This instrument can be coarse and dull or finely tuned and receptive—the choice is ours.”(4)

There is a moment, between stimulus and response, when we have the freedom to choose. In that moment, we are malleable. We create ourselves by practicing whatever it is that we want to become. In that moment, “the procrastinator” can choose to write that paper rather than hit the snooze button on the alarm clock and the “frantic college student” can clear time in the day for active rest. In making these choices, we tune our bodies and minds like musical instruments. With every choice we make, we improve our pitch.

The idea of “tuning” our bodies seems especially appropriate given that the figurative use of the word “tune” means to adjust or adapt to a particular situation. And what is the Alexander Technique, if not the process of relearning how to respond naturally to different stimuli? What is the Alexander Technique, if not a process of letting our movements take their most graceful form?

In Body Learning, Gelb writes, “The essence of Alexander Technique is to make ourselves more susceptible to grace.”(5) I love this definition of Alexander Technique—but I might alter it slightly to include a word that has found a comfortable home in our class discussions this semester: the essence of Alexander Technique is letting ourselves become more susceptible to grace.

The question becomes: how do I let this happen? I have tried to create space in my day to observe my habits: The overarching of my low back. The way I let my ribs fall forward. Holding my breath when I’m self-conscious. Locking my neck when I’m nervous. Always getting off my bike to the left even though my kickstand is on the right. The long length of my stride. Loosing my awareness between yoga poses. Holding my right shoulder.

Every act of noticing slows my pace just enough to create room for timshel, room for choice. Creating that space and time between stimulus and response seems crucial for practicing Alexander Technique.

In class we discussed the statement: “Mrs. Jones lives three feet in front of herself.” The truth is that most Americans live at least three feet in front of themselves. We race through life without asking ourselves where is it that we’re so anxious to arrive. Practicing Alexander Technique, in contrast, encourages us to live right where we are, quite literally, one step at a time. Efficiency, by Alexander’s standards, means arriving in the moment and arriving in our bodies.

I have a lot to learn about my body, but my awareness is growing every day. I am learning how to shorten my stride. How to brush my teeth with my left hand and get off my bike to the right. I am learning how to listen to what my body needs. And perhaps most importantly, I am learning that the pursuits of the mind do not have to mean the abandonment of the body.

When I study outside, I have gotten into the habit of bringing a flat-seated chair with me. When I ride my bike, I relax my shoulders and lengthen my spine, careful not to overarch my low back. When I wake up in the morning, I roll to my side before getting out of bed to turn off my alarm clock. When I take yoga classes, I think of the transitions between poses as valuable positions in themselves. These changes are small but they are momentous. They are timshel-enacted.

1. Steinbeck, John. East of Eden (New York, New York: Penguin, 2002) 301.
2. Steinbeck. op. cit., 302.
3. Gelb, Michael. Body Learning (New York, New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1994) 33.
4. Gelb, op. cit., 34.
5. Gelb, op. cit., 90

©2010 Mel Weiss. All rights reserved.

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Mel Weiss studied the Alexander Technique with Meg Jolley while a student at Pomona College. She graduated in May 2010 and currently lives in Boone, North Carolina, where she works with Blue Ridge Women in Agriculture, a nonprofit dedicated to promoting sustainable agriculture and supporting female farmers in the High Country.

The Complete Guide to the Alexander Technique