What You Actually Hold

There's a line running straight through the middle of your day Some of it is yours to move, some of it just happens anyway The weather, the traffic, the way a stranger feels about you None of it was ever a rope your hands could really hold onto

What you actually hold is smaller than it looks How you show up, what you practice, what you took The time to build in yourself before the day arrived That part is a flame you get to keep alive

What you actually hold is smaller than the storm But it's yours completely, steady, sturdy, warm Stop reaching for the cloud, it was never in your hand Hold the flame instead, the one thing you actually command

You can't decide the outcome of a single thing you try Only the aim, the care, the honest reasons why The judge, the market, the weather, the other person's mood All of it moves on its own, indifferent, unpursued

What you actually hold is smaller than it looks How you show up, what you practice, what you took The time to build in yourself before the day arrived That part is a flame you get to keep alive

This isn't giving up on the outcome mattering at all It's just refusing to let a storm decide if you stand tall Do the work completely, aim it as true as you can Then let the weather be weather, and rest in what you actually command

What you actually hold is smaller than the storm But it's yours completely, steady, sturdy, warm Everything else was always going to move the way it moves Hold what's yours, let go of what you never really used

What you actually hold is smaller than it looks How you show up, what you practice, what you took A quiet, complete inheritance, small enough to keep A flame in your own two hands, small, and yours to keep