Blank Canvas

The start of a new week always carries a quiet excitement.

There’s something about Monday that feels like a clean page — challenges and rewards waiting patiently to unfold. I try to stay grounded in the present, but I can’t deny the subtle thrill of what might lie ahead.

This week I want to pay attention.

Over the weekend, certain thoughts and feelings rose to the surface. I’m not sure what they mean yet, but I plan to let them guide the process rather than rush to interpret them. A blank canvas. A few simple strokes. See where the path leads.

Lately I’ve sensed that I may be trying too hard to hold onto what I practise — to own it, to secure it, to claim it as mine. And I suspect that this subtle grasping might be the very thing preventing me from going deeper.

I don’t know if that’s true.

I don’t even fully understand what it means.

But I’ll keep watching.

By the end of Monday, light rain was falling across the courtyard. I’ve always liked the rain. It quiets everything. The school softens under it. People move a little slower, as if invited inward.

It was a good day.

I’m starting to genuinely enjoy my staff training. It’s only been about a week, but slowly the language of it is beginning to make sense. There’s still so much clumsiness, so much to refine — but there are moments where it clicks.

And I have to admit something that might sound silly.

Spinning a staff for hours makes me smile.

Maybe it’s the young boy in me — the one who once picked up sticks and imagined far-off adventures. Maybe it’s something simpler than that.

All I know is this:

I’m enjoying the conversation.

And that feels like a very good place to begin.