I’m sitting at the airport, waiting for my flight after a few very quiet days away. I did very little, exactly as planned. The rest was needed, and it landed where it was supposed to.

The time didn’t burn brightly on this trip. It passed gently. Maybe my attention has shifted to softer places. Maybe things are fading a little. Or maybe this is simply how time behaves when you stop trying to fill it.

I don’t really need to know. The days were simple, and that was enough for them to be what they were.

I’m a few days into this small mid-year break now, and while I’m enjoying the time away, there’s a part of me that misses Wudang and the rhythm of training more than I expected. I’ve grown used to that structure. To the repetition. To knowing exactly where effort belongs.

A break is good. Necessary, even. Still, my mind keeps drifting back to what I want to work toward. The list feels long, and the place where most of it can be done is very clear.

So while I’m resting — doing very little, intentionally — the future keeps nudging at me.

I spent part of the morning watching videos of people teaching what I’m currently learning. I tried to watch without bias. I didn’t succeed. But in that failure, something useful surfaced.

Seeing what felt clumsy or overstated helped clarify what matters to me — not just how I’d like to teach one day, but what I’d rather avoid.

It isn’t only about movement, though correct movement matters. And it isn’t all about the dam and  endlessly invoked Qi, spoken about as if it were a private possession or special ability accessed while holding an imaginary ball. That language feels tired to me. Overworked.

The sun is shining today. Truly shining. And with it, a long-awaited break has arrived.

Leaving the school always feels strange. I didn’t expect it to become a place of safety, but it has. Somewhere I feel comfortable, accepted, quietly held. A place that asks me to work harder, to be better, to solve what needs solving without drama.

To say it feels like home is too simple. It was more like a harbour — somewhere I could ride out the storms without being asked to explain myself. Somewhere I could live plainly, move my body, and let things settle.

Another day accounted for, and now it’s time for a short break.

For the past few days I’ve been nursing a sore back. Nothing serious, just another reminder of distance — how far I’ve come, and how much still lies ahead. Injuries aren’t welcome, but they do have a way of pointing directly at what’s been overlooked.

This one has made something clear. I need a longer, slower warm-up if I want to keep progressing. Not a dramatic adjustment. Just more time at the beginning, letting the body arrive before asking anything of it.

I was stopped at the front gate of the school after returning from a short, quiet walk in the park.

An older Italian student asked me why I was here. Why this place, this life. I found myself pausing longer than expected, not because the answer was complicated, but because it was so simple it felt almost unusable.

I knew whatever I said wouldn’t satisfy a Western way of thinking. It would invite more questions. Still, I didn’t have anything else to offer.

It’s 7:50 on a cold Tuesday night. Cold enough to see every breath hang in the air. I’m sitting off to the side, watching the coaches train — moving like machines, steady and relentless.

Tonight I feel a little sorry for myself. Once again, I’m injured. This time it’s my lower back. Probably the result of fifty-five years of wear layered with long hours of training. I shouldn’t be surprised. Somehow, I always am.

This one needs rest. So I’m skipping basics this week, moving slowly, stretching deeply. I’ve been doing that for the past couple of days, and the body seems to be responding. Not quickly, but honestly.

I had an interesting day yesterday. It almost felt like stepping backward into an older version of my life — and, unexpectedly, I liked it.

I swapped my training gear for filming gear and shot a small project for a friend. Simple. At least, that’s how it felt. Like pulling on an old glove. Familiar. Comfortable. For the first time in a long while, I was doing something instinctively, without thinking, operating at a level my body remembers even when my mind has moved on.

I enjoyed it more than I expected. Enough to make me wonder why I’ve done so little of it over the past few years. I like creating. I’m good at it. And it’s still good work.

Today brought the first real brush with winter. Morning training was cold — properly cold — and by the end of the session snow had started to fall. The timing felt merciful. We scattered back to our rooms, letting the worst of it pass without us.

Training itself was good. Quietly so. Though I did notice a slight drag in the pace — not wrong, just slow. It gave me the sense that a rest is approaching. Not urgently, but inevitably.

Over the past few weeks, despite still enjoying the experience, I’ve felt the weight of it accumulating. Learning and maintaining this many forms takes more than it appears from the outside. It’s demanding in a way that isn’t dramatic, just constant.

Today was dull. Not in a dramatic way — just flat. A day off, but without a small project to anchor it. No writing, no photos, no video to occupy the edges of the mind. When that happens, my thoughts tend to drift, and restlessness quietly takes their place.

I suspect this isn’t new. It feels more like something I’ve carried for a long time, something I’ve noticed before but never quite named — not out loud, and not fully to myself.

Looking back over today, the pattern is clear enough. Some things in my life have changed profoundly. Others haven’t moved at all.

There are days at the school when it feels like I’ve slipped backward rather than moved ahead. Yesterday was one of those days. I can’t fully explain it, though I suspect it has more to do with how my body feels than anything else.

It was a hard day. Pain sat everywhere. Two new movements, in two different forms, both asking more than I felt ready to give. Part of me kept thinking they should feel easier by now.

Which is strange, when I stop and look at it properly.

Everything I’m learning is still new. Every movement is a fresh physical and mental demand — something to understand, remember, coordinate, and repeat until it settles into the body. Until then, clumsy is the only honest stage.

It’s been a few tougher days since I last checked in. Nothing dramatic. Just a steady, low-grade tiredness that occasionally swells into something heavier.

I keep waiting for the moment when basics start to feel enjoyable. The day when all this effort clearly tips into reward. But as the seasons shift and time keeps slipping past, I’m beginning to suspect that day may never really arrive.

And maybe that’s the point.

It’s Friday. Wet and cold. Still, the end of the week always carries a quiet relief.

It’s been a good stretch of days — small gains throughout — though this week those gains feel hard-earned. Nothing came easily. The forms, like all new forms, have been awkward and uncomfortable to learn. That familiar resistance. I’ve come to accept it. There isn’t really a choice when it keeps showing up.

As the last day of the week unfolds, I can feel the accumulation of effort. Class has been tough at times, frustrating even. But the movement forward is there, however slow. Hard days pass. So do the easy ones.

Yesterday turned out to be a tougher day than expected. I’m not entirely sure why. Nothing was wrong, exactly — just off. Predictable, really. Good days and bad days are part of it. This one sat somewhere in between.

I found myself caught up in the busyness of the school. Moving too quickly. Jumping from one thing to the next without really settling into any of it. It’s clear I need to slow down. Understand what I’m doing before trying to add pace. Build from something solid instead of skimming across the surface.

Everything is fine. Just a day that asked more patience than I had available.

Wednesday morning, and I feel good. The work doesn’t feel easy right now, but I can sense progress underneath it. Enough to stay engaged. Enough to keep giving what I have.

Last night unfolded in an unexpected way. I was sitting alone, watching the coaches train, when a young woman came over and sat beside me. She said she needed someone to talk to.

It struck me as unusual. People here don’t often speak openly about how they’re feeling. What followed wasn’t dramatic — just honesty, shared quietly. She felt forgotten. Left behind. Searching for something she couldn’t quite name.

I’ve been quiet for a few days. Nothing wrong — just not much to say.
And even now, that hasn’t changed much. Still, I know that letting thoughts move out of my head and onto the page usually leaves more space behind. So I write.

Lately, I’ve been feeling a little tired. I’m not entirely sure why, but I suspect it has something to do with how often my age has been drifting into thought and conversation. Not in a negative way — just present. Noticing itself.

Training injuries feel almost normal here. Not unique. Not personal. The same story, in different bodies.

There are brief stretches when everything feels aligned — movement clean, pain quiet — but they never last long. When they pass, you continue anyway. Pain becomes part of the process. Not an obstacle, just another presence in the room.

I used to take that personally. As if something had gone wrong. Months of training have stripped that idea away. If you’re pushing honestly, discomfort is unavoidable. Teeth grit themselves without asking.

Monday morning. After a gentle Sunday — capped off with an afternoon run — I woke up a little sore. The kind of soreness that’s been lingering since last week. Nothing alarming. Just something that needs warmth and movement before it loosens its grip.

So here we go again. Another week unfolding. Another stretch of small steps aimed toward something still indistinct on the horizon. I don’t know exactly what that place looks like yet, only that it’s there — and that the work continues to point in its direction.

For now, the body needs to move.
The rest can wait until it catches up.

I woke to a beautiful Sunday. Sunlight through the window. The world calm, unhurried. It feels like the kind of day that doesn’t ask much of you.

Maybe a walk.
Maybe rest.
Maybe nothing at all.

Days like this are easy precisely because they’re undefined. There’s no shape to follow, no expectation to meet. Whatever arrives, arrives.

Yesterday turned out to be more interesting than expected. I took the afternoon off and went to watch a Tai Chi competition.

It was good to see — encouraging, even — but I left feeling slightly underwhelmed. Not because the people competing lacked courage. They didn’t. Stepping out to perform takes something real. Still, the overall standard felt uneven.

That feeling shifted when Louis came and sat behind me. Quietly, without making a point of it, he said this is why you do basics.