Though I didn't know enough at the time to think twice about her taking the job, other people clearly were alarmed for her professional growth. What would it look like, they asked her, for someone of her experience and skill to take such a lowly job? Suzanne's answer has always stuck with me: "I want to get back to being an editor," she always replied with a shrug, "and sometimes moving forward down the road means taking a few detours right now."

As the months went by and other positions opened, she applied for them-and without fail, she was promoted. Her bosses and coworkers were all impressed that she applied herself in every task as though it were her dream job, whether she was relegated to the basest assignments (ironing sheets and pillowcases for a photo shoot) or the most glamorous (attending out-of-town trade shows and parties). Within a few short years (though I'm sure they did not feel short to Suzanne), she had not only worked her way back to senior editor, but she had also acquired volumes of knowledge about the industry, our company, and herself along the way. She was poised to have her pick of positions (and indeed has moved on to bigger and better things).

I think about Suzanne a lot these days because my yoga practice has bumped up against a "detour," as she called it. It's not an injury; I have done nothing in yoga or elsewhere to hurt my body. It's growth. I know growth is good, but right now, it doesn't feel good. It is manifesting itself as agonizing discomfort. Poses that once offered repose and relaxation now make me antsy; those that used to feel open and wide are now tense and twinge-y. Every night after practice, I can feel changes taking place-an ache in one hip, a gnawing sensation in my foot, and a general tenderness that I haven't felt since I first took up yoga. I feel like I am back at square one, learning the proper form of each pose and reminding myself to breathe, because I've had to re-examine my expression of each posture and relax through the uneasiness.

I would be alarmed about my seemingly backward regression-if I didn't have Suzanne's example to draw upon. With every new shift that takes me back to an earlier expression of any given asana, I think about Suzanne's comfort in accepting a job far below her expertise and experience, knowing that in time, that small concession would eventually blossom into bigger, brighter opportunities. Rather than push my inflamed joints and aching muscles, I am taking Suzanne's patient approach, easing back-rather than plowing forward-and looking at my newfound fragility with compassion. I'm trying to consider these steps backward in the larger scheme of things, to view my yoga practice as a lifelong source of enjoyment rather than a task that must be conquered right now. Doing so has shushed the competitive voice clucking at me every time I need to back out of a pose and has even made me appreciate the creaks and tweaks that surface after class. Without them, my yoga practice would stagnate. I need those shifts to fuel my practice and, indeed, to hold my interest and keep my focus.

I hope that my story will help those who find themselves in similar positions. Just realize that yoga is the path, not the destination. For some of us, it's a long and winding one, which merely means that we can relish the journey a bit longer than our friends whose paths are straighter!