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Inching Along

An inch every ten years. That’s the way the Rocky Mountains were formed, and that’s the way the world changes. Not by stamping your foot to get your way. Not even by the bang of a gavel. It’s by the choices that we make, you know, all the time. You do what you think is right, every time. Slowly, the world starts to change. That’s how we leave our imprint on life — an inch every ten years.

Maxine, on Judging Amy

It’s easy to feel like nothing we do matters. We’ve done everything we know how to make the world a better place, and still we have hatred in all its forms – racism, sexism, homophobia, prejudice against other religions and people who are differently abled and anything else that is out of our comfort zone. I’m not the only one, I’m sure, who’s ever wanted to move to her own island and leave all these ridiculous humans to deal with themselves.


Change is hard. We want big flashy change overnight. Problem is, big flashy change is usually called a fad and it disappears as fast as it turned up. We don’t want hula hoop change. We want yoga change. You do the work over and over, and after a couple of years, you can bend a little further than you could before. Your spine needs time to unlearn all the things that years of sitting and driving and stooping have taught it. Then, at the end of a long time, it can extend a wee bit further, and gain more flexibility than it would otherwise have had. You might even think nothing has changed, but one day you wake up and realize you slept really well, and you’ve been doing that more often lately.

An inch every ten years may not seem like much, but it’s the change that sticks, and at the end of the day, it really does matter.

Kimberly went to yoga class today. Can you tell?

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