Stepping Away

The time has come for the first break of this trip. I’ve enjoyed the stretch of work so far, but I’m ready for a few days away. Not as escape — more as a change of rhythm.

The training itself isn’t particularly hard, but it can be relentless. A steady grind that tests commitment as much as desire. There are good days and difficult ones, often side by side. It’s always a study in contrast.

That’s something I’ve come to appreciate about China, and about learning Tai Chi and Kung Fu here. Everything feels clearly defined — effort and rest, strength and softness, ease and resistance. Living inside constant contrast feels like a physical expression of yin and yang rather than an idea to be understood.

It’s just a thought, but one that feels worth holding onto as this continues. If I can really see that movement between opposites — not conceptually, but practically — then perhaps something sits just behind it, waiting to be noticed.

As we drove through the rain toward the small local airport, I found myself wondering whether the only thing standing between me and a life that flows more freely is the rigidity of my own mind. It’s a question I’ve asked before. One I thought I’d already answered.

Leaving the school, I noticed that the teaching didn’t stay behind. It travelled with me. The sense that this journey is becoming what I’d hoped for, and also something longer — an ongoing path of learning rather than a destination.

Sitting alone felt unusually good. Just pen and paper. Thoughts moving without needing to be followed or held. No urgency to shape them into anything.

I feel fortunate. Deeply so. And yes, I’m very much looking forward to seeing RiRi — someone who’s quietly become an important companion in this unfolding search for simplicity and freedom.

My practice feels good, though far from perfect. The flaws don’t seem to live in the body so much as in attention. The moment the mind drifts, the form loosens.

The answer doesn’t feel complicated.
Stay present.
Let the practice become absorbing enough that nothing else has room to intrude.

I sense there’s a deeper way of meeting the forms — beyond technique, beyond effort. Something felt rather than named. Where the movements become familiar enough to belong to me, and I loosen enough to disappear into them.

That’s not something to explain or announce.
It’s something to keep quiet and work toward.

For now, stepping away feels like part of that work.