As human beings, does so much of our suffering not come from living with a closed palm? Does our pain, frustration and aggravation not come from trying to hold onto things longer than they want to be held onto or trying to resist change?
The assumption that change is hard and takes time and effort is so deeply ingrained that it's not easy to believe it can be any other way. Our assumptions and beliefs are one of the most dangerous things we possess because they put a barrier between us and an easier, more peaceful, happier life. They shut us down to fresh thinking.
There's a weird myth that says once you've figured out what you want to do, you've figured it out forever.
But speaking for myself (and the hundreds of people I've coached and been in conversation with), that's rarely true.
For the vast majority of us, life is a series of experiments. An always fluid, ever unfolding and never static journey of discovering, development and change.
There can be a lot of fear in slowing down, doing less and changing routines and rhythms that have actually been working pretty well for you in your life. Fear that maybe you might lose something and never get it back.
But I've come to look at this period through a lens of seasons. Summer doesn't cling to itself in the fear that in giving way to autumn it may never get another chance. All seasons come and go, knowing that they'll return when the time is right. There's a knowing. A trust. This is just the way it is.
I'm sitting on my balcony, wrapped in my grey fleecy blanket. It's pouring down in London, but warm. A half finished cup up of Early Grey tea - now almost cold - at my right hand side. I can see the arch of Wembley Stadium out to my right, partly obscured by the horse chestnut tree that's in full leaf. And the red geranium plant adds a splash of beautiful colour to my morning.
My fingers swell up like crazy when I'm hiking in the heat. They look like Michelin Man fingers.
This weekend's hike with Keijiro was no exception and, as I always do, I took the ring off not long into our walk. If I don't, it gets uncomfortable and eventually just gets stuck. This morning, as I left the apartment, my thumb reached instinctively to the finger I normally wear my ring on. But instead of the familiar metal, all I felt was skin. I'd left the ring in my backpack.
I met a Danish friend of mine who’s been living in London the last few years. Her grandma died recently. Her mum is gone too. And not long ago she received a telephone call from a storage facility in Denmark where she’d been keeping a lot of her personal belongings. There’d been a fire. Everything was gone.