Reins, Lightly Held

I have learned that timing is not a thunderclap—
it is a hand finding the reins
and deciding, quietly, to keep them.

Not with force.
Force is for people who mistake noise for power.
I prefer precision—
a well-placed decision,
a step taken before doubt
has time to rehearse its objections.

There is a moment—
small, almost forgettable—
when intention becomes action.
No ceremony. No witnesses.
Just a shift.
And suddenly, the day belongs to you.

I take the reins there.

Not to dominate the path,
but to participate in it.
To say: yes, I will steer—
with grace, with humor,
with enough awareness
to know when to loosen my grip.

Because control, when overplayed,
is simply anxiety in a tailored suit.

Luck, I’ve noticed,
has excellent timing—
but a questionable work ethic.
She favors the prepared,
the ones already in motion,
already aligned,
already showing up
as if something worthwhile might happen.

I greet her politely when she arrives—
never desperate, never surprised.

“Ah, you’ve found me,” I say,
as though I hadn’t
been setting the table all along.

There is a certain wit required
to move through life like this—
to act decisively
without appearing hurried,
to choose boldly
without explaining yourself to everyone
with an opinion and a passing curiosity.

And I do enjoy that part.

The quiet amusement
of watching opportunity circle back,
recognizing the posture of someone
who has already decided.

Taking action is not loud.
It is not frantic.
It is not the theatrical declaration
of becoming.

It is composed.
Measured.
Almost elegant.

A series of small, exact movements
that shift the entire landscape.

So yes—
I take the reins.

Lightly, but with certainty.
Firmly, but without strain.

And if luck chooses to join me,
well—
she is welcome.

But she will find
I was already on my way.

Sherley Delia