What happens between nothingness and the full-blown existence of something is progress.
I used to dismiss the intermediate steps between 0 and 1, thinking they didn’t mean anything. For me, only the complete, stable presence of something was relevant.
But every stage counts. Without a 0.1, there wouldn’t be a 0.2, and so on.
One afternoon, my nine-month-old son was supposed to be napping when he started babbling––clearly awake. I went to his bedroom and found him standing in his crib. With a whole face smile and rosy cheeks, he exclaimed, triumphant, “caca” [poop, in Spanish].
Sure enough, he needed a diaper change, but I assumed his “caca” was a babbling coincidence––babies duplicate syllables when they discover their sound-producing capabilities.
I marked his first speech at 13.5 months, when, after his lunch, he said, “a jugar” [to play, in Spanish], despite his earlier first meaningful use of the word “caca,” as well as the many times he’d said “hola” [hello], “agua” [water], and of course, “mamá” and “papá” [mom and dad].
This has been a pattern in my life, I realize now, and it’s not a beneficial one. Without recognizing progress, daily practice towards mastering anything becomes difficult. An uphill battle against the Ego and Ghosts convincing me that, if it’s not perfect or fully finished, it’s nothing.
Your Ego won’t tell you, “keep going.” It’ll tell you, “not enough.”
But that’s a lie because change requires one first step, even if it’s minimal and barely noticeable.
In coaching, we often use the metaphor of “tiller shift:” even a 0.1-degree shift will change your destination. And that’s progress.
What progress will you acknowledge you’re making?
Love,
Carolina
Carolina Perez Sanz 