Another Year

Today was my birthday. It was quiet. Peaceful. And, if I’m honest, a little lonely.

I spent most of the day training and keeping to myself. That usually means less friction. Fewer explanations. Less energy spent trying to bridge gaps that no longer feel worth crossing.

I’m starting to realise something simple: the less I give of myself to others, the less I need to listen, the less I need to explain, and the less I need to ask what happened to the world I thought I knew.

I am older now. More experienced. In many ways, more capable. And yet that experience often seems to be treated like ballast on a sinking ship — something heavy, inconvenient, better left behind.

The world has changed. It always was going to. Whether it’s changed for the better is a question every generation seems to ask, and one that never really gets answered.

I don’t see myself as important. Or relevant. I see myself as a man who is still loyal to his own thoughts, even though they no longer align with the rules or expectations of a world that seems obsessed with change for the sake of it.

I notice that I look backward more than forward these days. I don’t know if that’s healthy or not. It doesn’t feel like nostalgia exactly — more like taking stock. Measuring distance. Checking what still belongs.

Nothing remarkable happened today. Nothing shifted. Nothing was learned that hadn’t already been circling for a while.

But there was a quiet clarity in not fighting. In letting go of ideals that no longer carry much weight. In choosing not to argue with the shape of things.

Another year begins.