The Man on the Corner

There’s a man who lives on the corner of my road.
I’ve seen him around — both at the gym and just sitting outside his house.
We cross paths a lot, without trying.
And each time, he’s the same — open, emotionally available, grounded.

He’s a bit younger than me, but he seems secure in himself in a way that’s rare — especially in men.
He’s not guarded. He’s not performative. He’s just there.
Present.
And it reflects something I’ve been working toward in myself.

What strikes me most is that I don’t feel like I’m chasing anything when I see him.
It’s not about proving or impressing.
It just is.
And in that stillness, I see the part of me I’ve been cultivating — maybe even the part I’ve already become… I just don’t fully believe it yet.

Seeing him reminds me of that.
That I can live from that place more often.
That regulation and connection can exist without effort or drama.

These moments — bumping into him, walking my dog, seeing familiar faces — they ground me.
They settle my nervous system in a way that doesn’t call attention to itself.

And I realise:
Even after a difficult day, I’m starting to notice what helps.
I’m shaping my mornings around it.
Letting small things matter.

Maybe I’ll see him at the gym again soon.
He couldn’t live closer if he tried.
But whether I do or I don’t, I’m grateful he’s in my periphery —
a mirror of something steady I’m learning to trust in myself.

Until then…
Leave it. Sit. Wait.
That’s the energy I’m moving with now.