Begin Again

End of the week and the tiredness is in the bones in the way that's always welcome — the deep kind, without pain, the kind that tells you something real was done. It arrives like an old friend you're always glad to see.

The morning was desk work, catching up on things that had slipped while the practice demanded priority. Then the pull toward the tree — the old one in the spot I've made a habit of, where the leaves let the light through in a way you couldn't plan for if you tried. I lay on the grass and let my mind drift lightly over the past two weeks, not examining anything too hard, just letting the recent past settle.

It landed on one moment.

I spent the fortnight learning the Kung Fu Fan form with a young, patient, thorough, and good teacher. We finished on the day Louis returned from holiday. The following morning, he asked to see it.

I performed it as best I could. He watched, took a moment, and then said simply: I think we should start again.

And so we did.

I've been sitting with how I responded to that, because a year ago, it would have landed very differently. There would have been something quick and defensive in it — the feeling of two weeks wasted, of being set back, of getting something wrong that I thought I'd gotten right. I know that person. He still lives somewhere in there.

But this time I smiled. Because I understand now what it means when a teacher cares enough to say the thing that needs saying instead of the thing that's easier to say. Louis and I have put real time and real effort into each other, and that remark came from that investment, not from a judgment about my worth. He is telling me he is still paying attention. That's not a small thing.

People say I've changed. Maybe. I prefer to think of it as a small shift in perspective. Nothing dramatic — just a slightly different angle on the same view.

The tree. The light through the leaves. The simple gift of someone who gives enough of a damn to start again.