The Flowing Path

I thought I would write more while I was in China. Before I left, I imagined quiet evenings in Wudang when I would sit down and put the day into words. But there was simply too much happening. Too much to see, too much to learn, too much to feel. I was living the experience rather than analyzing it. Now I’m home, and the reflection has begun. I’m happy to be here. Truly happy. I came home to a life I love, to people I love, to work that feels meaningful, to all the familiar c

Lately, I’ve been getting the same message from my tai chi practice: Stop trying so hard. Easier said than done! There are movements in my form that feel natural now. I don’t have to think much about them anymore. My body seems to know where it’s going, and one movement simply becomes the next. And then there are the others... The places where I still think too much. Where I anticipate what’s coming. Where I try to put my foot in exactly the right place, turn my waist at exac

In Honor of Richard... A few months ago, the owner of a local studio reached out. She explained that a Tai Chi teacher named Richard had become ill and had been unable to teach for several weeks. He had told her it was time for someone else to continue the class, and one of my clients had recommended me. I had heard of Richard before, though we had never met. We live in a fairly small town, and there are only a handful of people teaching authentic Tai Chi—not necessarily mas

From a distance, Queen Anne’s lace looks like a single white flower. Simple, maybe even ordinary. Easy to pass by. But come a little closer. What appears to be one flower is actually hundreds—sometimes nearly a thousand—tiny blossoms woven together. And resting at the center is something many people never notice at all—a single deep purple flower. Since the flower is rather unobtrusive from afar, most people walk right past it. Not because it’s hidden. Because they never loo

It doesn’t matter whether you’re teaching the class or walking in for the very first time—whether you’ve been practicing for three weeks or thirty years. In my class, we all begin our practice in exactly the same place: standing quietly, eyes closed, settling into our own breath. Then I say, “Together, let’s inhale… exhale.” There is something profoundly humbling about knowing that experience doesn’t exempt us from the beginning. No amount of skill allows us to bypass the fir

“In the Taoist sense, diligence is about returning again and again to something with steady reverence.” —365 Days of Dao by Dae Lee Merriam-Webster defines diligence as the “earnest and persistent application of effort.” In other words, work harder, practice longer, push through difficulties. But in a Taoist context, diligence is much softer. It isn’t forceful persistence. It’s the willingness to return. Every time we practice a form, we’re not just repeating movements. We’re