Shifting Ground
Over the last week I’ve been struggling with a set of photographs. I couldn’t quite understand why. They weren’t bad, but something felt off — unresolved.
When I sent them to a friend and tried to explain the discomfort, she offered a simple thought: you’re changing every day, so the way you see things is changing too.
That sentence stayed with me. It sent me back into the files.
About thirty minutes later I closed the computer, slightly stunned.
Every image carried the same feeling. Isolation. Loneliness. Small figures swallowed by wide spaces. Subjects present, but never fully held. As if each photograph was quietly looking for somewhere to belong.
It wasn’t subtle once I saw it.
And it wasn’t surprising either. This is exactly how the last month has felt. People I call friends leaving the school. The circle shrinking. The days growing quieter.
I don’t think that’s good or bad. It just is. A season passing through, leaving its imprint behind. Something that will eventually fade, but not without changing me in the process.
This journey is stranger than I realised. It’s reshaping more than just my body or my practice.
If you can remember who you were,
you can understand what you can become.
I love that sentence. It feels like a small compass — not loud, not demanding — just steady. Something you can return to when the weather turns.
I know who I once was.
And I know what I can become.
The body, on the other hand, has its own opinions.
Another familiar story: soreness, swelling, the echo of yesterday’s effort. Not an injury exactly — just the accumulation of pushing. Running may have to go. The last two times I enjoyed it, but paid for it the following day. It seems to tighten everything in a way that doesn’t serve the training.
That one step forward, one step back pattern is wearing thin.
I feel tired tonight. More mentally than physically, I think. Which makes sense. This journey carries weight, and I’ve invested deeply in it. I need to protect what keeps it alive.
Tomorrow I’ll train with a smile.
Not to prove anything.
Just to remember why I’m here.
That will be enough.