Zen Ninja

Shift: Moving From Force to Flow

What a single week taught me about calm, resistance, and redirecting energy.

This week, I noticed something about myself.

I kept pushing. Not in a heroic way — more in the “rushing from thing to thing, half-present, half-scattered, hoping the momentum would somehow carry me through” kind of way.

There was a deadline at work, and I found myself sprinting toward it while trying to collaborate on an important workflow.

I finished the job, but everything felt rushed — not up to the standard I usually bring. I walked into a meeting without a plan and felt the conversation scatter before I’d found my footing. I didn’t make it to the gym. Didn’t get on the bike. Came home still buzzing with the noise of the day.

And yet…

There was one moment that didn’t feel like that at all.

The Effortless Moment

One morning, I had to drop my son to a university exam. It was on my way to work — nothing dramatic, nothing planned. But in the car, something unexpected happened.

We just talked.

Lightly.

Easily.

No weight.

No rush.

No agenda.

I wasn’t trying to be present — I was present. The moment designed itself. It hit me later that this was the only part of the week where I felt genuine flow. So I asked myself a question:

What if presence doesn’t come from trying, but from removing the friction that blocks it?

Where the Resistance Was Hiding

Once I saw it, I saw it everywhere:

  • I rushed the work project because my mind was already overloaded.
  • The meeting felt chaotic because I hadn’t given myself two minutes to centre.
  • I didn’t connect deeply at home because I brought the day’s noise with me.
  • I didn’t go to the gym because I hit the morning with resistance already built in.

None of it was about skill, motivation, discipline, or willpower. It was all friction. And friction creates force. Force creates rushing. Rushing creates disconnection.

The Two-Minute Reset

At some point in the week — probably in the middle of feeling overwhelmed — I realised something simple:

A deep breath is the doorway.

Not a metaphorical one. A literal one. A single breath where I ask:

“What does this moment actually require right now?”

Not what the day requires. Not what the project requires. Not what the world requires.

Just this moment.

It changed the way I saw everything:

  • In a meeting, all I needed was one clear priority.
  • In a conversation, I needed to arrive, not perform.
  • At home, I needed to breathe before walking through the door.
  • For work tasks, I needed the outcome, not the whole method.

And suddenly, the noise around me felt less like a storm and more like wind passing through branches.

The Night-Before Trick

Out of everything, the gym became the clearest mirror. I realised that I didn’t need a plan, a promise, or a motivational speech. I just needed to remove the morning resistance. So I started laying out my clothes the night before. Towel on the chair. Water bottle ready. Nothing complicated.

When I woke up, the friction was already gone. No decision needed. No negotiation. No battle. Just flow.

And I realised:

this tiny act was the physical version of that deep breath.

It wasn’t about fitness — it was about identity. It taught me to arrive in the morning the same way I arrived in that car with my son: clear, uncluttered, unforced.

The Zen Ninja in the Storm

What I’m learning is that a calm person isn’t someone who has less to do. A calm person is someone who stops meeting every moment with a raised sword.

Some days I imagine myself as a Zen Ninja standing in the middle of a storm, leaning quietly on a sheathed blade.

Branches fall. Wind shifts. Noise rises. But instead of bracing, fighting, or rushing, I simply move aside. Let the unnecessary battles pass. Let the moment show me what’s actually needed.

This isn’t avoidance. It’s mastery.

The sword stays sheathed not because there is no challenge, but because most challenges don’t require force — they require clarity.

Why This Matters

This week taught me something simple, practical, and strangely profound:

  • If I remove friction, calm returns.
  • If I take a breath, clarity appears.
  • If I prepare the moment before the moment, flow becomes the default.
  • If I show up centred, the people around me feel it instantly.

And the beautiful part?

Anyone can do this. You don’t need to meditate on a mountain. You don’t need to restructure your life. You don’t need to reinvent yourself. You just need small pauses that create space for your inner calm to step forward.

Because in the end:

Flow doesn’t come from trying harder. Flow comes from stepping aside before the sword leaves the sheath.

Live the Upgrade — A Shift in Weight

We talk a lot about “upgrading”—our systems, our tools, our mindset. It’s easy to imagine the upgrade as something waiting for us on the other side of effort: one more push, one more week, one more early morning.

But lately I’ve realised something uncomfortable and freeing: upgrades aren’t installed by wishing, planning, or hoping. Upgrades are lived.

In a session with a life coach, they used the phrase “upgrade your subscription.” It landed in that strange way truth sometimes does — no fireworks, just a quiet click somewhere in the soul. I could feel the next version of me, but I wasn’t stepping into it. I was standing at the doorway, rehearsing the move.

And then the Zen Ninja whispered:
“The upgrade isn’t a leap. It’s a shift in weight.”

Just like on the mat — or on a mountain bike trail, or in a business meeting — the smallest adjustment in posture can change the whole direction of the flow. The Zen Ninja doesn’t sprint into the new version of himself. He tilts. He softens. He steps a fraction off-centre, and suddenly he’s already moved.

I find myself caught between intentions: I want to go to the gym, I want more energy, I want calmer mornings. But the harder I try to force the shift, the more resistance I create. And of course there are nights where a bottle of wine appears on the bench, my wife walks through the door, and the “upgrade” becomes simply being present with the person I love.

That too is the path.

Zen isn’t about perfect choices — it’s about seeing the choice clearly, without the noise of guilt, pressure, or self-judgement.

Live the upgrade doesn’t mean “be flawless.”
It means: act from the upgraded version of yourself now, even if in tiny steps or shifts in weight.

For me today, that might mean:
• Not telling myself or my business partners that I’m “too busy.”
• Trusting that if something matters, we’ll find the resource or hire the person.
• Allowing stillness before action, even in the middle of work chaos.
• Choosing the morning gym session without turning it into a battle.

These aren’t leaps. They’re shifts in weight.

And that’s the dance of the Zen Ninja:
To move so lightly that change happens without struggle…
To meet challenges without armouring up…
To step sideways when the world pushes forward…
To win battles no one even knew were fought.

Today, I’m just learning to stand in the upgraded version of myself. Not because I’ve earned it. Not because I’ve achieved something. But because the doorway was always open — and all I ever needed to do was shift.