The Calm

I haven't been writing much these last few years. The wears and tears have been starting to show. Today a coworker asked me how I could be so calm when so many seemingly horrible/stressful things are happening around me. The only thing I could think to tell her was it had become a life choice. It's not that I don't care, I've just figured out where the eye of the storm lies. The Serenity Prayer has always meant something to me, and it helps lead me to the Calm: 

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.

The best part of living life this way, I still get to see the storm for what it truly is, one beautiful, incredible mess. 

Check ignition and my God's love be with you

Courage
Anne Sexton

It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.

Later,
if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
comver your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.

Later,
when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you'll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you'll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out.


Pretty Sweet Analysis here (for those of you who hate poetry).

I wish I wasn't scared of this.