Sitting, observing,
noticing, returning.
A half-hour each day, every day,
for the past month—
sticking to the routine with the discipline of a Navy SEAL,
waiting for the benefits you’ve heard so much about.
Then, at lunch today,
when you dropped an entire bowl of soup,
you didn’t curse,
didn’t berate yourself,
didn’t kick the shards across the tile.
You watched the anger rise,
recognized it as just another passing thing,
took a breath,
and cleaned up the mess.
I suppose this is what progress feels like.
The Truth About Tigers 