A knife I sharpened today told me something about my own edge

Been feeling like I'm the one getting worn down lately, the blade instead of the hand. But this one chef's knife — abused, heel all chipped, handle loose — took the stone like it had been waiting all week. Fifteen minutes of quiet and it was singing again, and I thought: maybe that's all any of us need, someone to hold us steady while we come back to ourselves.