There’s a small frog that’s taken up quiet residence outside.
Most days, I’ll spot some tucked beneath a cluster of leaves, unmoving. Just… there.
Not leaping, not singing. Just being.
It’s been scorching hot lately here in Japan, and I can’t blame the little one for hiding from the sun.
They’ve found their place—safe, quiet, still.
And watching them, something inside me softens, too.
I’ve been sitting with this thought lately:
Wherever you are is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
It’s a beautiful idea—until life feels stuck.
Like in my yoga practice.
Some days, the flow feels strong and free.
Other days, my body doesn’t move how I expect it to.
A pose I’ve done a hundred times suddenly feels out of reach.
I used to get frustrated, thinking, Why can’t I just do this?
But yoga keeps offering the same quiet truth:
My body isn’t wrong.
My experience isn’t a problem.
It’s just asking me to meet it where it is—with curiosity and care.
That same lesson is showing up in a relationship in my life.
The truth is, we’re not where I hoped we’d be by now.
I feel ready to move forward—to grow, to build something deeper.
But I feel the hesitation, still hiding under their own kind of leaf.
It’s painful sometimes. I want movement, clarity, certainty.
But what I keep learning—over and over—is that I can’t rush someone else’s unfolding.
Just like my body on the mat, or the frog in the heat—
They’re exactly where they need to be for now, even if I don’t understand it.
And maybe… I am too.
So today, I’m practicing patience.
I’m sitting with what is, not what I wish it were.
I’m learning to let things—and people—be in their season.
The frog doesn’t force the day to cool down.
It simply finds a leaf and waits.
And somehow, that’s enough.