Let’s talk for a minute about flexibility.
I’m not very flexible. When I was a kid, we had to do sit-and-reach to measure the flexibility of our hamstrings and I always barely passed. I watched other girls, ones who could fold themselves up into pretzels, reach past their toes effortlessly. And I just couldn’t.
I’ve done yoga regularly for years and can now fold forward and touch the bottoms of my feet. It feels like a minor miracle, but not without years of practice—stretching and folding.
Still, I look around in yoga class at the lithe, slim women who are there and marvel at them. They make it look easy. Maybe for them it is easy.
I’m also not flexible when it comes to expectations. When things change at the last minute, I struggle.
I used to stomp around a lot when this would happen. I would stomp around and run my mouth, trying to blast the frustration from my system. It took me years to realize that wasn’t helpful. It wasn’t helpful to me and it wasn’t helpful to anyone else.
I still struggle with this, just like I struggle to lengthen my body and fold it in half.
The struggle is still there. It might always be there.
The question is, what do we do with the struggle? If I’m inflexible, what can I do about that? I stretch and give myself grace for whatever my body can handle today. I try to let go of my expectations and give myself grace for whatever I can handle today.
I try to remember that, no matter what, everything will be okay. No matter how flexible I am today, in whatever way I can be, it will be okay.
Progress, not perfection.
Today, I struggled. I had plans for the day to write at a favorite library, a bit farther from home than I normally go, then to head to a yoga class. If ever there was an ideal day, this would have been close. Coffee, writing, and a good stretch.
But the kids might not have school tomorrow because of bad weather, and we’re running out of food even though I didn’t plan to grocery shop until Thursday.
The struggle is still there. It might always be there.
For a moment, I got upset that I’d have to give up my ideal day. I griped to my husband, lost track of time. But in the end, I decided to maneuver things around. I took my computer to the café at the grocery store, wrote for as long as I could before heading to yoga. Then, I was back to grocery shop and home to cram a few more words in.
It wasn’t ideal, but I did it.
Progress, not perfection.
Every little bit counts.
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