The mind negotiates. The body doesn’t. Throughout the year it has been sending small signals ‒ heaviness before a storm, a tightening after too many small responsibilities, the kind of fatigue that settles in long before anything dramatic happens. None of it is catastrophic; it is simply honest.

What I used to dismiss as “one of those days” was usually the body registering strain before I allowed myself to acknowledge it. Heat, noise, interrupted sleep, the background load of holding things together ‒ the body keeps a record even when I try to override it with logic.

Lately I’ve been trying to listen earlier, while the messages are still quiet. Perhaps that is what growing older really is: catching the whispers before they have to turn into alarms.