Defying Gravity - and Myself
My Passion for Handstands
“Why are we doing all these handstands, backbends and arm balances? I don't know why we're doing them unless our lives are shaped and changed.” - Judith Lasater
Five minutes before I first became a superhero, I felt powerless.
It was 2012. A friend pressured me into going to a CrossFit class. The workout of the day included handstands, and I thought he was crazy. Only gymnasts could do handstands, not me.
“I can’t do a handstand!” I protested to the instructor.
“Yes, you can. I’ll help you through it,” he reassured me.
I don’t like to shy away from a challenge. I placed my hands on the ground and gave the instructor one last pleading look. He gave me a nod.
“Here goes nothing,” I thought as I kicked my feet up toward the wall, bracing for the impact of collapse. But to my amazement, I stayed upright. In that vertical position, as all the blood rushed to my head, the world seemed to turn upside down in more ways than one—I felt like a superhero, defying gravity and my own expectations.
Soon, handstands were all I could think about.
Over the next several months, I practiced handstands against any wall I could find: at the gym, in the park, in the cramped rooms of my small New York City apartment. I talked about handstands to anyone who would listen. I played a game with myself to see how long I could hold myself up, and my times steadily improved from just a few seconds to over a minute, then two. When I decided that wall handstands no longer sufficed, I set my sights on the next challenge: a five-second freestanding handstand.
The transition from a wall to freestanding handstand was harder than I expected. “What am I doing wrong?” I wondered during countless frustrating hours of practice, my legs flailing as I toppled over again and again. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” I thought. It’s only human to want to give up when faced with little or no progress. But something in me refused to quit.
When I moved to San Francisco later that year, I knew I needed to make a change—or I’d be stuck in a plateau forever. I needed a teacher, someone to guide me. This led me to circus school where I met Dominik Wyss, a soft-spoken circus artist from Switzerland who became my first hand balancing teacher. Wyss could perform tricks I could only dream of doing: handstand presses, one arm handstands, intricate leg positions on top of canes. Training with him was like entering a secret world.
We met three times a week at a warehouse south of San Francisco where I trained surrounded by dozens of talented and dedicated circus performers. I was in awe of them. Each session began with wrist warmups, which I soon learned were essential to avoid wrist injuries. Wyss would then spot me in handstands until my arms were so tired I felt like I was going to crumple onto my head. We finished with gymnastics-style conditioning exercises—triceps dips, single-leg squats, superman raises, v-ups, and wall holds for time. When I complained that I wasn’t making any progress, he would tell me to be patient. It would come.
Outside of our sessions, Wyss assigned me daily homework: cartwheels, bunny hops, squat jumps, wall handstand holds, and freestanding practice, all interspersed with calisthenics for conditioning. I stuck to this regimen with near-religious dedication, allowing myself only one rest day a week.
And slowly, I improved. I remember that first five-second freestanding handstand like it was yesterday: practicing on the hardwood floors of my home office, my cat Fishstick lounging nearby. I kicked up and started counting. “Maybe this will be the day,” I thought with never-ending optimism. When I counted to five, I ran over and scooped Fishstick up in a celebratory hug. He did not share my enthusiasm.
With that small victory, my handstand dreams expanded. I created a long list of dream goals I wanted to achieve: a minute-long freestanding handstand, a press-up, splits, straddle, and tuck leg positions, and a one-arm handstand, to name a few. I trained handstands like it was my job, dedicating an hour or more six days a week. Almost nothing could stop me from my handstand training: not holidays, not sickness, not even wrist pain. I pushed through it all. Handstands made me feel alive, rekindling a feeling I remember having as a kid but had been missing from my life for too long.
My training paid off. There’s no more satisfying feeling than making tangible progress toward a goal you’ve worked tirelessly for. I craved more of that feeling, and it fueled my determination even further.
What drew me specifically to handstands? I think it comes down to the idea of agency. For much of my childhood, I felt like nothing I did made much of a difference in my actual life. I was bored in school, bored in the small town where I was raised. I couldn’t change my circumstances, so I retreated to books and my imagination, always hoping I’d wake up one day in a different life. More than anything, handstands gave me a path to achieving something objectively difficult through my own sweat and hard work—a mindset I’ve since expanded to every area of my life.
When I discovered there was so much more to handstands than talent (I truly believe anyone can do a version of them!) I fell even deeper in love with them. The more I practiced, the more I became fascinated by the intricacies of handstands. And that’s what all the best passions do, don’t they? They lead us to become fascinated by the details—minute things that anyone without a passion for the activity or craft would find unendingly boring.
For example, did you know that a handstand is never static? The entire body is working together, making tiny adjustments that begin in your fingertips and go all the way to your toes to maintain balance. The perfect handstand is less about strength and more about learning to correctly stack the hips and shoulders over the wrists. Better technique equals less effort.
But there is a fine line between passion and obsession.
Psychologists have studied the nature of passion and identified two types: harmonious and obsessive. Harmonious passion occurs when we pursue an activity with balance, integrating it into our lives without causing internal or external conflicts. This type of passion lets us enjoy our interest while also appreciating other parts of life, like family, friends, and other hobbies.
On the other hand, obsessive passion is marked by a compulsive drive to engage in an activity, often at the expense of other areas of life. It can lead to feelings of pressure and dependency, resulting in negative emotions when we can’t engage in the activity.
Our Western culture often tells us that to become great at something, we need to obsess over it. But research by the psychologist and passion expert Robert J. Vallerand shows the opposite: it's actually harmonious passion that leads to sustainable success and well-being. Obsessive passion can result in burnout and other negative consequences, like injury, broken relationships, or neglect of responsibilities. In contrast, harmonious passion allows us to pursue our interests in a way that enhances our overall quality of life. This more balanced approach leads to greater enjoyment, persistence, and ultimately, achievement. Think artists with long, illustrious careers versus those who crash and burn at a young age.
In handstands, and in other passion pursuits, I’ve consistently straddled the line between the two types of passions. Handstands have brought me an enormous amount of joy and purpose. Once I get something in my head, I pursue it with a dogged stubbornness. This usually works in my favor, helping me build strong routines and consistency. But sometimes, I teeter into obsessive territory, where my entire identity becomes tied up in my progress.
This happened with handstands. At one point, I felt that they were the only thing going for me. This is what led me to push through the pain of a torn muscle in my wrist, an overuse injury that I was only able to fix through stem cell treatment because I wouldn’t take enough time off to let it heal. It’s also the reason I once paid $4,000 for a course on handstand press-ups, justifying it as an educational expense that would help my fitness clients. But deep down, I knew it was just an excuse. If there’s a more obvious sign of obsessive passion, I don’t know what it is.
Though I’ve had to consistently pull myself back from the brink of obsession, handstands have been far more positive in my life than negative. Through handstands, I discovered an entire world of circus enthusiasts, some of the most passionate people I’ve ever met. I trained with Cirque du Soleil artists, have traveled to exotic places like Costa Rica for handstand camp (yes, this is a thing), and found a renewed sense of agency I’d been searching for since childhood.
Handstands, for me, are more than just a physical feat; they represent living with passion and striving for excellence. They embody the delicate balance between effort and ease, control and surrender, passion and obsession. Every time I jump or press into a handstand, I’m reminded of my journey—the thousands of hours of practice, the frustration, the small victories, and the sheer joy of defying gravity.
Nothing compares to the sensation of defying gravity while balanced upside down. Even now, so many years later, I get a little jolt of joy from every handstand—scientifically speaking, a rush of dopamine.
Each one is a brief suspension of reality where anything feels possible, fueling my childhood dream of becoming a superhero.
And come to think of it, that’s the childhood dream we all share. Maybe we just have to find the passion that makes it possible.
What’s yours?