Today, while walking, I listened to a Buddhist teaching that didn’t teach me anything new, yet it moved me to my core. It was as if the words had been lifted from my own life, like a script written about me. I wasn’t just listening. I was hearing my own story.
They spoke of growing older not as a burden but as a blessing, an opportunity to deepen into wisdom. And I thought, yes. That’s what I’ve been living. Every layer I’ve shed, every shift I’ve made, has brought me closer to that quiet strength. I didn’t need convincing. I already knew.
Walking has become my meditation. The sound of leaves underfoot, the rustle of trees, the birds’ chorus—it’s all part of my daily practice. With each step, I feel more grounded, more awake. Stronger in body, yes, but also in spirit.
They talked about food, about treating the body with care, with mindfulness. I smiled. I’ve already been doing that, choosing what nourishes me, letting go of what doesn’t. Then came the part about creativity and how it doesn’t fade with age. I nearly laughed. That’s been my truth all along, creativity blossoms as we evolve, and so do opportunities.
Listening, I wasn’t learning. I was remembering.
It was like life was holding up a mirror and whispering, “This is you.” There was no separation between the teaching and the teacher and the student. I was all three.
And in that moment, I felt awe, not because the ideas were new, but because they were so completely mine. Every word, every truth, already lived inside me.
Sometimes, we don’t need direction. We need confirmation.
Not a map, but a reflection.
Not a path, but a knowing that we are the path.