Incrementally Awesome

I often marvel at just how many little "baby" steps are required for Imp to master skills. From the moment he first lifted his head, I imagined him romping through fields, chasing after squirrels and picking dandelions, not really thinking about how many steps there are between a head lift and romping. But as he grew, I began to recognize that, and I found myself getting excited at the smallest improvement. Every degree he lifted his head higher became a major achievement, and when he actually got his chest clearly off the floor -- whoa was that a big day. While, like any mother, I want my son to excel, slowly, I am learning not to anticipate or expect things to happen too quickly, but instead revel in and marvel at the little improvements and things he learns each day. Imp started crawling fairly early, and cruising soon after, but going from cruising to walking without support has been a difficult step. I try to wait patiently for the day when he gains enough confidence and balance to freely walk to me of his own accord, and to do so I find myself watching for all the tiny little things that make that eventual goal achievable. First it was standing on his own -- and each second he added before he collapsed to the floor. Then it was moving his feet. Then being able to move his feet and plant solidly to stand again after one step. Then two. Every increment is an achievement. By looking at each tiny step like this, I find it makes the days when he clearly has learned something big even more exciting.

As usual, what applies to babies and toddlers easily applies to adults. We often wait and wish for the big achievements without appreciating the small ones we make each day. In waiting we can get depressed at the length of time it takes to achieve our goals. Sometimes it is hard to see the small steps we take, but each one can be important, and often times essential, to achieving that end goal.

For example, in the Weight Watchers program (which I've done multiple times and am planning on doing again) there is a big emphasis on small goals. Looking down the road at the final weight loss goal can seem so far away, but if you aim for 5% or 10% of your weight -- or aim for goals that don't even measure on the scale (just keeping track of your food, or walking up an extra flight of stairs each day) -- you find that you are constantly able to achieve, and that end goal seems not as important, and at the same time, much more achievable. When I lose track on Weight Watchers, I find it is often because I am no longer paying attention to those smaller goals, or having trouble seeing the smaller achievements.

Part of the problem is that seeing those small steps requires a level of optimism and good spirits that can be really difficult to achieve on a day to day basis -- at least when it comes to looking at yourself. With my son, I have no problem keeping up that optimism and good spirits -- he gets so excited himself about the small achievements himself that it's impossible not to be infected by his smiles.

Why is it so much easier to revel in the tiny achievements Imp makes, but not at my own? Part of it is frankly, he's 11 months old, and I'm 32 with a PhD and a career in mind. We're at slightly different stages developmentally. I suppose too, as we get older, bigger steps are often required to get to a goal. But part of it is self imposed -- you can see it even with how we track ages. With a baby, we count weeks, then months, then as a toddler, half years, then years, and at this age, we even start referring simply to decades (I'm a thirty-something). A decade is a damn long time. There is a clear problem with this long-time-span way of thinking: if we constantly aim for only the big goals, it is so easy to get lost along the way.

It may seem silly to revel in the small things (today I wrote my blog -- good job, Maggie! What a big girl you are!) but how silly is it instead to only ever focus on humongous, hard to achieve goals? If the only time I ever rewarded my son with praise was at the big things -- crawling, sitting up, walking -- he might never discover that those incremental steps he makes are important. So I cheer each step, even if it comes immediately afterwards with a fall. Now just to do the same for myself.