On Change

Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. Lao Tzu

Trees are stable, not rigid. This is how they master change.

I vividly remember walking through the white landscape of this year's winter forest, where the oaks and beeches stood defiant, utilizing their withered leaves as a defense against the bitter frost. In that frozen silence, they didn't fight to look beautiful in a season that demanded survival; instead, they made a quiet sacrifice: letting go of their outward display to protect their core identity and vital functions.

I've come to value the habit of deliberate retreat, and find it a calm counterpart to the way our modern, less traditional societies are incentivised and structured. In my own life, I've found it to be a good tool to find the things of value that resonate the strongest. Even if I prefer the brighter seasons, I wouldn't like to miss the colder, harsher periods as they bring contrast, making us more susceptible to the good things to come.

A similar storyline is told in competitive sports, where you see that everyone has a breaking point. Even the absolute best can crack badly under a sudden shock or injury. Therefore, the most inspiring athletes to me aren't those with flawless careers, but the ones who have fought through repeated injuries, defeats, and have seen places of real desolation. In my experience, these athletes as masters of change make really good company by their depth of character and unpretentious way of being. I hope to get acquainted with more of them in the course of the training-designer project.

Right now, I'm happy to introduce the first workout in the playable structure that I imagined. I know it's still rather crude, but good enough that I can use it to guide my own training and that of trusted friends who will forgive the mistakes I'm going to make along the way. As I've perceived in nature, the best way of qualitative change is the one of continuous, patient, and gradual improvement that is directed by a grounded universal spirit.