Lady Uppity had become well acquainted with wobbling.
It hadn’t always been that way.
Once upon a time, she walked without giving a single thought to where her feet might land. Then, one February morning a few years ago, life insisted she pay attention.
She woke in pain. Intense inflammation had settled into her body, making even the smallest movement difficult. At first, she couldn’t walk without assistance. Slowly, over the following weeks, she found her way back, one careful step at a time.
Every step became a conversation.
She had assumed balance meant never swaying.
It had never occurred to her that balance might actually be the willingness to meet each small sway with kindness.
She discovered that balance wasn’t the absence of movement.
It was the dance.
At first, fear walked beside her, quietly whispering, Pay attention. Slow down. Be gentle with this body.
And for a while, that was exactly what she needed.
But over time, something subtle changed.
Fear no longer needed to hold her arm.
Mindfulness did.
Trust did.
That, she realized, was equanimity.
Not the absence of fear, but the quiet confidence that fear no longer had to lead.
It could simply walk a step behind.
These days, Lady Uppity still wobbles.
Sometimes her knees complain.
Sometimes the sidewalk surprises her.
Sometimes fear clears its throat, offering its familiar reminder to be careful.
She smiles.
Then she feels her feet touching the earth.
One step.
One breath.
One mindful moment at a time.
For years, she believed balance was the destination.
Now she wonders if trust had been waiting beneath her feet all along.
Life has a way of teaching us that every wobble—whether in our relationships, our identity, our grief, or our body—is simply another invitation to come home.