The dharma talk in yoga in October explored the word “progress.” I confess, I couldn’t hear a lot of it. Yes, I had my hearing aids in, but the HVAC fan drowns out all other sound. So I hear a bit, the fan comes on, and I riff on the theme in my head. (And then spend the rest of class hoping I can remember my brilliant thoughts until I can write them down.)

Progress, I heard Elizabeth say, might mean letting go of outcome. Not progress toward a certain goal, but forward from wherever you are. The endpoint (if there is a completion), might not be what you thought it would be.

Or it might mean, I thought, realizing you could be successful if you do “less.” Or if you do something differently.

Progress might be the acceptance of backward movement.

I’ve been practicing yoga—and doing downward-facing dog pose—for nearly twenty years. While some practitioners can push their heels to the floor,  a small dog could wiggle under mine. Also, some yogis can step one foot between their hands in one smooth move, as the transition is “supposed” to be achieved. I have to pull mine forward with my hand. Every. Single. Time. (I know, I know, you’re supposed to keep your eyes on your own mat, not pay attention to the abilities of others.)

Shortcomings are not failure. In yoga, you do what you can do, and it is enough. But damn, I thought I would “get better” over the years of a regular practice. I have not.

Until a few months ago.

In an online session from home, with no one (not) watching, I did down dog with blocks under my hands. You couldn’t put a cat paw between my heel and the floor. I brought my foot forward in one gliding motion. Success!

One simple adaptation, one acknowledgement of what my body can’t do—will never be able to do—and I made progress. I have hated down dogs all these years, and suddenly I don’t! When offered the choice, I’m choosing it, now, over child’s pose!

I haven’t been hiking as long as I’ve been doing yoga, but I have learned a few things about progress on the trail. I once measured it in increasing strength and lung capacity. No longer. Now it’s in the willingness to adapt to changes in my body, to gauge my ability when choosing a trail, to thoughtfully navigate challenges, to know when to turn back.

. . .

What, you are surely asking, does progress have to do with “Mama Soup”? (And what even is Mama Soup?) Actually, they have nothing to with each other. Unless I figure it out as I write. But it’s National Family Caregivers Month, so I feel compelled to honor my mother, and those challenging years of our walk together.

My mama loved soup. And she saved unconsumed food from her plate. (Waste not, want not, a Depression-era holdover.) Two broccoli florets, a bite of chicken, a quarter serving of spinach. The refrigerator bloated with leftover containers (a.k.a. yogurt containers) and Ziploc bags. Eventually, she gathered all the dribs and drabs into a saucepan, added water (no seasoning), and voila: a half-cup of soup for lunch! (Insert major eye roll emoji.)

A couple weeks ago, I decided to try a version of Mama Soup. I had broth in the freezer made from last holiday season’s turkey dinner. I had a chicken thigh, beets, broccoli, mushrooms, half a sweet potato, a few garlic-roasted fingerling potatoes, and the last of the tomatoes from my garden. I had sriracha, and parsley I purchased for something and forgot to use.

It made a whole bowlful and was quite tasty!

So here’s my connection of Mama Soup to progress: Her good idea—arguably, poorly executed—moved to a higher plane. Also, my acknowledgement that it worked for her, and I should keep my eyes on my own mat. Rather than making fun of Mama Soup, I respect her commitment to feeding her body and not wasting food. I honor her for adapting to what her shifting ability still allowed.

Sometimes progress is measured, not in physical movement, but in attitude shift.

What adaptations have you made to shifting abilities? How have you reimagined progress? I would love to hear. Leave a comment below!

A note about commenting on a post: Click the subscribe drop down arrow just above the comment section and provide your information (it’s private) to receive an email when someone replies to your comment. I, at least, will always reply!