A Bad Day that Became Something Else

To call today just a little uncomfortable would be the understatement of the year.

Nothing landed. Learning Tai Chi — which I normally find genuinely enjoyable — felt like trying to work without my memory switched on, which is not an ideal approach to a form as intricate as the 108. The body was present. Everything else had apparently decided not to show up.

Lunchtime couldn't come fast enough, until I remembered it meant another visit to the TCM doctor — and more needles in the bum than I care to count or dwell upon.

I tried to reset during a short rest. Tried to let the morning go, close the door on it, begin again. But by the time I returned to the courtyard for the afternoon session, nothing had changed. Brain still absent. Arms and feet still refusing to communicate with each other or with me.

And then something shifted — not in the body, but in how I was holding it all.

There was no point fighting the day anymore. The only real option was to accept the reality of where I was, and accept myself inside that reality. In the past, this would have made me unhappy. If I'm honest, it still did — but I've learned, slowly, to let that feeling move through rather than take up residence. To set it aside and simply do my best with what remained.

That turned out to be enough.

I changed the pace. Stopped reaching for something the day wasn't going to give me, and started looking instead for the beauty and the quiet fun inside each movement. And slowly — almost reluctantly, it seemed — the form began to flow. Not in any way that felt remarkable. But in a way that, just minutes earlier, had felt like a distant dream.

When the session finally ended, I won't pretend I wasn't relieved to see it go. I ate alone, watching others socialise around me, and then went for a walk to say goodbye to the day — properly, without resentment.

By the time my head found the pillow, I was ready.

It had been a largely forgettable day. And yet it had given me something — permission to practice, permission to take unstable steps forward, permission to sit inside the uncomfortable feeling of perceived failure and continue anyway. A bad day, whatever that really means, that quietly became a lesson in kindness toward myself. In meeting difficulty without turning away from it. In understanding, again, that even the hardest days are temporary guests — unrecognisable from what came before, unknown to what will follow, passing through like weather that was never going to stay.

Just another day. A different one. And somehow, in the end, enough.