I didn’t expect to be taking a year out.
If you’d asked me last week, I’d have said Level 4 in September was a certainty. Two days a week in college. More purpose. More momentum.

But it didn’t happen. I wasn’t offered a place.

And strangely — I’m okay with that.

At first, I thought maybe I hadn’t processed the disappointment. Maybe it would hit me later. But now I see: I have processed it. Not through overthinking — but through living. Through getting up early and playing poker. Through breaking apart furniture, walking the dog, going to the gym, cooking a potato curry, and baking a cake with a gooey lime centre that wasn’t in the recipe… but turned out delicious.

That cake felt like a metaphor.
Sticky in the middle. A little underdone. A little perfect.

Just like this season of my life.

I’ve realised I’ve spent most of my life rushing. Always doing the next thing. Getting to the next qualification. Proving myself — maybe more than I even realised. But when I pause and listen to what I truly want, something else comes through:

I want to give poker a real shot.
Not from fear. Not from ego. But from love.
Because I enjoy it. Because it’s fun. Because it hasn’t stopped being fun for over 20 years.

This year, I want to give it everything.
And by “everything,” I don’t mean grinding myself into the ground.
I mean showing up from a place of balance. I mean checking in with myself every day and asking, “Is this the right time to play?” I mean building a rhythm that supports me, not just a routine that impresses someone else.

My Current Rhythm

Early mornings: 3–4 small-field tournaments. They start the day with presence and purpose.
Afterwards: a dog walk, gym session, or slow domestic tasks — grounding my body before doing anything else.
Afternoons: if I’m balanced, I’ll register for longer tournaments. If not, I pivot — to writing, learning, resting, reflecting.
Evenings: optional. No pressure.
Sundays: my favourite day to play. A sense of occasion. A deeper focus.

It’s not rigid, but it’s anchored.
It feels like mine.

And I’ve started to wonder:
Maybe that tiredness before my Level 4 interview wasn’t just tiredness.

Maybe that was my soul telling me, “It’s not time yet, Alex. Leave it a year. Let’s recover. We’ve just found peace — let’s not rush into the war again.”

And that’s stayed with me.
Because for once, I’m not rushing into the next thing. I’m not forcing momentum. I’m listening. And the stillness is speaking.

This year isn’t a step back.
It’s a year of integration.

A chance to let everything I’ve been learning — about self-trust, emotional regulation, energy cycles, and doing things for me — finally sink in.
I’m secretly glad I get to rest a bit. To walk a slower, truer path.
To create, to play, to listen, to live.

And if next year comes and Stockport say no again?
I’ll apply elsewhere.
And if no one says yes?
I’ll find a new way forward — because now I know how.

And that changes everything.