Finding My Footing

This morning, meditation didn't immediately bring me calm.

I sat with my thoughts, expecting to find stillness, but instead I felt restless. Unsettled. So I decided to take my dog for a walk, hoping movement would help me find my footing.

Ironically, I literally lost it.

At one point, I slipped on some loose gravel and went down on one knee. It wasn't a dramatic fall, but it was enough to stop me in my tracks. As I stood up, brushing myself off, I realized something.

I hadn't found my center.

I had been rushing through the walk, focused on getting somewhere instead of being where I was. My dog, as dogs often do, seemed to know better. So we continued at her pace. Slowly. Intentionally. I took deeper breaths and began to notice the beauty of the sunrise unfolding around us.

Little by little, I felt myself returning.

When we got home, I knew I needed a little more centering before beginning my day. I climbed onto the Pilates reformer and listened to a talk by Sarah Blondin. Her words landed exactly where they needed to.

She reminded me that I have so much more to offer than I often allow myself to believe.

And that struck a nerve.

Somewhere along the way, I became afraid to offer myself fully. Not necessarily through grand gestures, but even in small ways. Reaching out to a friend. Sharing an idea. Expressing a thought. Allowing myself to be seen.

For me, one of the places where I have always found peace is writing.

Yet there was a time when some of my writing was destroyed, and the loss affected me more deeply than I admitted. It made me want to retreat. To protect myself. To hide that creative part of who I am.

But hiding has never been where growth lives.

If I am truly walking toward myself, then I need to walk toward my creativity too. I need to embrace it. Trust it. Allow myself to be comfortable with what I have to say, whether anyone else understands it or not.

When I started this morning, I didn't think I would write a journal entry. I didn't feel like I had anything to say.

But a walk. A stumble. A sunrise. A few deep breaths. A little grace.

They brought me here.

Maybe that's the lesson.

Sometimes clarity doesn't arrive all at once during meditation. Sometimes it waits patiently on a gravel path, in the quiet wisdom of a dog, or in the courage it takes to return to the things we love.

Today, I am grateful that I kept listening long enough to hear it.