Sometimes the clay just refuses to center, no matter how much pressure I apply, and that's when I remember I'm fighting the material instead of working with it. It's a hard lesson, isn't it? To let the wood grain guide the cut, not force the shape I had in my head. The piece usually ends up truer that way, even if it isn't what I planned. Sometimes the glaze runs too thin, and you see the ghost of the underglaze bleed through. It's not "right," but it tells a story the pristine surface never could. A story of layers, of process, of what's hidden beneath. There are days my body just says NO to the run, and pushing only brings resentment. Better to walk those miles, listen to what's tight, and come back tomorrow. The body knows things the mind forgets.