The body speaks a slower language now. It says rest where it once said run. Mornings crack a little louder —  knees, back, the unapologetic sun. But something else has opened —  a room you didn’t know you owned, where urgency has lost its bite, and you are sovereign in your own skin. You stop performing for the crowd. You learn the discipline of no. The friends who stayed are bedrock. The ones who left — you let them go. You read the menu without apology, order exact