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People often told me I slouched.
At my desk, before I know it, my shoulders have crept forward.
Looking at my phone, my head drops.
I know.
I know, but by the time I notice, I’m already curled up again.
I’ve told myself so many times to fix my posture.
But keeping it in mind all the time is tiring.
Thirty minutes later, I’m back where I started.
One day, I was watching someone at the next table
A friend had brought me along to a pool hall.
While I waited my turn, I found myself watching the next table.
A woman was playing on her own.
Her form wasn’t showy.
If anything, even the sound was quiet.
The moment she got down into her stance, her back straightened, just like that.
Her shoulders were relaxed.
The fingers of her left hand spread quietly on the table.
The cue moved forward.
It felt as if her attention ran all the way to her fingertips.
She wasn’t straining.
She didn’t look like she was trying hard.
She was simply moving with care.
The shot done, she straightened up.
That movement, too, was quiet.
How lovely, I thought.
My turn came
I took the cue.
I copied what I’d seen and got down.
I leaned over the table.
In that moment, I could feel my back straighten.
No one had told me to fix my posture.
I lowered my body to get down, and it just happened.
I put my left hand on the table.
Spread my fingers, and rested the cue on them.
My attention went to my fingertips.
That alone surprised me a little.
I never usually think about my fingertips.
Swiping my phone, tapping at a keyboard, I had hardly ever turned my attention to them.
But in that moment, I was aware all the way to my fingertips.
It had been a long time.
Each time I get down, my body comes back
After a few shots, I noticed.
Each time I got down, my body came back to the same place.
My back straightens.
My shoulders find their place.
My breathing settles.
It isn’t that I’m telling myself to fix my posture.
I faced the table to hit a ball, and my body had naturally fallen into line.
On moving with care
I chalk the tip.
I walk around the table.
I get down.
I steady my breath.
I shoot.
Every movement in pool is small.
But none of them can be done carelessly.
The way you chalk alone changes the spin on the ball.
Let your stance slip, and your aim goes off.
Tense up, and the cue ball runs wild.
So each movement, one by one, becomes careful.
Aware all the way to the fingertips.
Steadying the breath.
Letting go of extra force.
It wasn’t about making the body look beautiful.
It was about using the body beautifully.
What I noticed on the way home
I left and walked to the station.
Somehow, my back felt straighter.
Not because I was trying.
But the body that had been getting down again and again a moment ago still held that feeling.
My reflection in a window looked just a little different.
It isn’t a dramatic change.
But my shoulders are drawn back a little.
My head is lifted, just slightly.
I hadn’t become like that woman at the next table.
But I felt just a little different from the person I’d been an hour before.
All the way to the fingertips
It had been a long time since I was aware all the way to my fingertips.
But I’ll probably forget again.
Back at my desk, my shoulders will creep forward.
Looking at my phone, my head will drop.
So I think I’ll stand at the table again.
Because every time I hit a ball, I have a feeling my body remembers.
👉 I was embarrassed at how bad I was.
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