Enough Space

The weekend arrived under a low, heavy mist that seems to have settled comfortably over Wudang — a small town I’ve now called home, on and off, for more than a year of my life.

Last night was gentle and unhurried. I spent the evening with a friend, watching an old film that stirred a quiet nostalgia — memories of past friends, shared laughter, moments that felt important simply because they were lived.

It’s strange how certain thoughts surface without invitation, pulled from some deep recess of the mind and placed squarely in front of you. Maybe that comes with age. Or maybe it’s a side effect of the life I’ve chosen — one that leaves enough space for those thoughts to rise.

It’s the weekend, and truthfully, there isn’t much to do here. But I’m beginning to think there’s just enough.

I’m sitting in a coffee shop with a friend. She draws while I write. She believes she’s drawing because there’s nothing else to do. I know I’m writing because it’s exactly what I want to be doing. The difference feels important. Living here has given both of us the space to follow those instincts, even while sharing the same quiet reality from very different angles.

Today will pass slowly. Calm. Unremarkable. Time here moves at a pace that feels almost unfamiliar now. Being busy for the sake of being busy has become a habit elsewhere — one I’m grateful to have stepped sideways from, even briefly. This place offers a different rhythm, one that invites a reconsideration of what actually matters.

It’s a deep rabbit hole. One I’m enjoying exploring.

The day drifted by softly — friends, conversation, long pauses where nothing needed filling. Days like this don’t announce their value, but they linger. Like falling leaves, carried by gravity toward whatever comes next.

Nothing much happened. And that felt right.

One small realisation did surface, though. There’s an old Tai Chi form — the very first one I ever learned — that I could add back into my teaching. It’s been a long time since I practiced Yang form, but it shouldn’t be difficult to recover. It’s still there, somewhere.

I think I’ll spend some time with it tomorrow.

That feels like a good way to meet Sunday.