I can see it now.
It’s not so clear, but I can see it.
There’s a rhythm here.
When I don’t stop, I see it.
When I stop, I keep looking for it.
It’s right in front of me though.
It tells me to just keep going—
to not stop until I’m all done.
So that’s what I’ll do then.
I won’t stop until I did it all.
It’s all downhill now then.
I can roll with this.
I can manage with this.
Just got to keep pushing now.
What else is this but pain?
Just a little discomfort now is all.
Relax and let go.
Let go to your own demands.
There’s something powerful about letting go—not in giving up, but in releasing the tension that slows you down. When I stop thinking so much about every step, I find myself gliding through the effort. It becomes fluid, almost automatic. The more I resist the discomfort, the more it feels like a battle. But when I lean into it, I realize—it’s not a battle anymore.
The rhythm doesn’t lie. It’s always there, waiting for me to sync up with it. When I move in time with it, everything gets quieter—the doubt, the frustration, the need to question every moment. What’s left is just action. Movement forward. Progress.
It’s strange how the hardest moments can become the easiest when you stop fighting them. The pain is still there, but it changes. It’s no longer something to fear—it’s just part of the process. Part of the rhythm.
So I’ll push now—not with desperation, but with purpose. I’ll let go of what I think I should feel and focus on what I know I can do. The rhythm will carry me the rest of the way. I just have to trust it.
