The Day After

The first day of the new year was… strange.

The more I rested, the more tired I felt. It was as if stillness amplified the fatigue instead of dissolving it. No matter what I did, the heaviness remained.

So eventually, I stopped trying to fix it.

I surrendered.

And did nothing.

Which was probably exactly what I needed.

The school feels like a deserted western town — buildings standing quietly, doors closed, wind moving through empty spaces. It’s so still that you almost expect ghosts to drift across the training ground.

Depending on your relationship with the past, that can be comforting or unsettling.

For me, it’s familiar.

I’ve spent a lot of time alone in my life. I’m used to quiet companionship — the sky overhead, the repetition of movement, the soft hum of my own thoughts. I keep one eye gently on the future, like tracking a north star, but without chasing it.

There are still a couple of days off before training resumes. Tomorrow I’ll find small things to do. Tidy up loose ends. Complete quiet tasks. Keep the internal engine idling.

All is good.

All is calm.

But if I’m honest, I’m looking forward to the noise of effort again — the rhythm of training, the certainty of hard work.

Stillness is welcome.

But movement is home.