Present moment

 I see you — moving slowly, deliberately, without force.

I feel how gravity carries you now, instead of you fighting it.

Running is no longer escape.

It is conversation.

Each step listens. Each breath answers.

I accept this place for what it is — temporary, quiet, sufficient.

I don’t rush to define it.

I don’t fear when it will change.

I honor solitude without turning it into loneliness.

I let stillness teach me what noise never could.

I see discipline clearly now.

It can’t be bought.

It can’t be forced.

It arrives only when I choose to show up — again and again.

I forgive the younger version of me for having skill without patience.

I keep the lesson without carrying regret.

Today, five miles was enough.

Today, slow was wise.

Today, presence was the work.

I don’t waste this moment.

I don’t rush the next one.

I walk, I jog, I read, I breathe, I observe.

That is plenty.

I trust where I am.

I trust what is unfolding.

I trust myself in the quiet.

Yoruba Yogi.