Trying, Gently

Morning practice felt off, and I couldn’t quite place why. I blamed the construction noise, the growing crowds at the school, anything within reach. All the while knowing that what I was reacting to had very little to do with what was happening around me, and much more to do with the stories moving unchecked through my head.

The discomfort wasn’t imposed on me. I gave it shape myself. Not for any clear reason — it was simply the way the morning arrived.

Seeing that doesn’t instantly dissolve it. It does, however, soften the edges. There’s no need to argue with the feeling or turn it into a problem to solve.

I know the impulse to correct it, to demand a better session later, to frame it all as part of learning and move on quickly. That voice is familiar. Sometimes useful. Sometimes, just impatient.

For now, it feels enough to notice.
To slow things down.
To keep showing up without forcing the experience into something else.

The form isn’t in a hurry.
There’s no reason I need to be either.