Hitting a Wall

Yesterday was unexpectedly difficult. It was the worst session I’ve had since returning to the mountains. After a solid week of steady progress with the Tai Chi sword, everything suddenly vanished. I stood there unable to remember movements that, only hours earlier, had felt completely accessible.

The frustration arrived quickly. Then disappointment. Then a quieter kind of dejection. It felt like moving backward after finally gaining some ground. Not a new experience, and certainly not the last, but still unsettling when it happens.

Looking back, what stayed with me most wasn’t the forgetting itself, but how I responded to it. I kept repeating the same approach, pushing against the same wall, expecting something to change. It’s strange how familiar that impulse is, even when I know better.

I could have stepped away. Done something else. Let the moment breathe. Instead, I stayed locked in, missing whatever was still available to me there.

This morning couldn’t have been more different. Practice was calm, almost generous. Not better, not worse — just different. I skipped basics and worked closely with my coach, slowly revisiting everything that had slipped away the night before. As I suspected, the information hadn’t disappeared. It simply hadn’t settled yet. It took time — nearly half an hour — for things to find their place again.

With that came a much-needed smile. I headed into town for coffee, cake, and a painful but necessary massage. My back and shoulders had hardened into something closer to stone, so it felt right to let them meet the blind man’s relentless elbows. An hour later, sore but lighter, I walked out already thinking ahead to the afternoon session.

I don’t know what it will bring. Whether it will feel good, bad, or somewhere in between. What does feel clear is simpler than that — each moment will be exactly what I allow it to be.