Departures

I’m sitting at the airport, waiting for my flight after a few very quiet days away. I did very little, exactly as planned. The rest was needed, and it landed where it was supposed to.

The time didn’t burn brightly on this trip. It passed gently. Maybe my attention has shifted to softer places. Maybe things are fading a little. Or maybe this is simply how time behaves when you stop trying to fill it.

I don’t really need to know. The days were simple, and that was enough for them to be what they were.

Now it’s time to head back to the school and see what’s waiting. Long days of practice, familiar rhythms. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed it until I stepped away.

It feels strange to admit, but this way of living has slowly become central. Not dramatic. Just present, day after day.

What I want to explore next isn’t more structure, but expression. Finding my own way of moving inside what I’ve been given. Letting the work shape me, rather than trying to force shape onto it.

None of that needs deciding now.

The boarding call will come soon.
The bags are already packed.
And the road ahead is still there — partly obscured, but unmistakable.

I’ll see it more clearly once I start walking again.