Looking Back
It’s been about a month of practice now, and today felt like a natural moment to look back and take stock. Not to measure anything too closely — just to notice where things are sitting.
The first couple of weeks were mostly revision. I’m carrying six forms now, and the truth is they all demand time. Keeping them alive, let alone improving them, is work. Still, it’s happening, slowly, steadily.
The month has brought all the expected fluctuations. Good days, off days, moments of quiet momentum followed by stretches that feel flat. What stands out most, though, is how gradually improvement arrives. Training here feels a bit like watching a turtle migrate. Progress is real, but patience is required. Nature doesn’t rush.
I know things are changing. It’s just hard to point to a single moment and say there. The shifts are small, almost invisible. But like compound interest, they accumulate whether I notice them or not.
Life feels more settled now, and at the same time strangely adrift. A combination of grounding and uncertainty. Moving forward without a clear destination — or perhaps simply moving away from something that no longer wanted me.
That thought still stings. The fact that she ran out of love. That there was nothing left to give. It hurts when I sit with it. Still, I’m trying not to let that pain erase what was good. There was real value there, too, and those experiences helped shape the ground I’m standing on now.
I don’t know where here leads, or what the future holds. I’m trying to trust the process anyway — not because it promises wholeness, but because it’s the only honest way I know to move.
Life feels like a series of chapters. Small stories inside something much larger. This one feels unfamiliar, maybe even awkward, but like all chapters, it carries traces of what came before and will quietly influence what follows.
I made a simple choice today and went to the park to train. It was wonderful. Just trees, silence, and movement. I know, in theory, that training should be possible anywhere. In practice, choosing an environment that feels supportive makes everything easier. The body responds. The mind follows.
Not every lesson needs to be hard-earned. Some of the most useful ones arrive through ease, even enjoyment. It’s easy to forget that.
Lately I’ve been turning over questions about motivation — about why the mind sometimes resists what the heart claims it wants. I don’t have answers yet. Only curiosity. Perhaps fear plays a role. Perhaps habit. Perhaps it’s just part of learning how to listen more carefully.
I know I have a tendency to say no. To spot the shadow before the light. I’ve always called it realism. Whether that’s helpful or limiting is something I’m still exploring.