The Strength That Greets Me at the Garage

The Strength That Greets Me at the Garage

I just finished my evening walk.

The rain had passed through earlier, leaving everything a little softer, a little quieter. By the time I got back home, I kicked off my shoes and peeled off my socks—my feet swollen from the day, but craving something real.

I stepped onto the cool concrete, barefoot.

The chill of it moved through me. Not in a harsh way—but in a grounding way.

Then I walked slowly into the grass—still wet from the rain. And for a moment, I just stood there.

It felt like the earth was breathing beneath me.

I stood in silence outside the garage, not because I was drained, but because I needed a second to feel what the day had built in me.

Today had its weight.

Its friction.

Its unexpected turns.

But I kept showing up.

Kept choosing presence.

Kept leaning in when retreat would’ve been easier.

And somewhere in that tension—between the pressure and the peace—something happened.

I started thinking clearer.

Believing deeper.

Speaking slower.

And becoming just a little more of the person I’m meant to be.

Growth rarely shows up when things go smoothly.

It arrives in the resistance.

It waits for us in the places we’d rather avoid.

And tonight, I found it.

On the cold pavement. In the wet grass. In the stillness before heading inside.

I didn’t just make it through the day.

I grew through it.

And that’s enough to rest in.