Tiny Gifts

Wednesday morning arrived bright and calm. Sunlight instead of rain. One of those openings that makes the day feel possible before it even begins.

There was only one real choice to make — train at the school or head to the park and enjoy the quiet. Part of me wanted to carry yesterday’s lightness forward and soften my relationship with training here. In the past, this place has never been a problem. It’s only the current conditions that have stirred these reactions.

It feels important not to cling to them. To notice, let them pass, and stay with what’s actually being offered.

The day turned out to be tougher than expected. Demanding, in its own way. Still, it was worth it. Slowly — almost reluctantly — the Tai Chi sword is beginning to come together. Not cleanly. Not confidently. But enough to sense the shape of it.

There’s a long road ahead. That much is obvious. And yet, each day it feels a little more workable, a little less foreign.

These forms insist on time. There’s no shortcut around that. I often want to be further along than I am, but the truth is quieter — I am improving. It just arrives in increments so small they’re easy to overlook.

Tiny gifts.
Easy to miss.
Still real.

All that’s required is noticing them when they appear — and letting that be enough.