Peace

Earlier today I was agitated, frustrated, unable to concentrate. It was a most unproductive morning, and all I accomplished was a trip to the bank. I spent the early part of the afternoon ranting and raving on the phone about someone who offended me, and feeling pretty unhappy about my life in general. I felt unbalanced, out of step, just plain wrong. Yeah, everything was wrong. I don't know why. I have some ideas, but those theories are not for this blog. Not today at least.

I feel better now. I feel at peace. I think it's because I spent a lot of time talking to people who love me, and they allowed me to vent. After I ranted and raved, at two separate times during the day, I felt better. Relieved. I realized that some of what I was saying was wrong. It was inaccurate as well as morally wrong. I was just angry, that's all. The deep seated, abiding, furious kind of anger that's not always apparent, but boils to the surface every now and again.

It's the kind of anger people have when they wish that their lives were very different. It's the kind of anger that immobilizes, and makes it difficult to do what is necessary make a life move in the right direction.

But late in the afternoon, the anger went away, or at least subsided. I left the house, bought myself a coffee, read the newspaper. I did a little "people watching." My friend came and sat with me for an hour, and chatted about work and the people in our lives. Then we walked around outside, under the guise of finding a place where we could have a beer. Every time we came to a bar, he'd say something like "It's too crowded in there," or "I don't want to pay that much for cover, do you?". So we'd keep walking and talking, commenting on people, window displays, or whatever came into our heads.

It was cold outside. The crisp, clean sort of cold that's not uncomfortable, but makes you walk a little faster. It was entirely pleasant, and I felt thankful for my friend, and for all the other people in my life.

At one point I thought about the last woman I was with, and how after a long, pointless argument, she'd lean across the table, put her hand on my arm, and say "Baby, I don't want to argue with you about this."

She'd always look straight at me when she said that, and wouldn't let go of my arm until I nodded, or said "okay," or gave some other sign that we were on good terms. It was understood that we could pick the argument up at a later time if there was really a need. Most of the time there wasn't.

I told my friend that was a tough act to follow, and he agreed. He said that my ex was really great, and that he wished we could have made things work. Ordinarily, his comments would have made me sad, but tonight I just remembered her love, how it sustained me through rough times, and still sustains me in some ways. I became a better person because of her.

On the way home, I listened to a broadcast about a study of Alzheimer's Disease being done at a monastery. During one interview, a nun could not remember how long she had been a nun. She couldn't remember how long she'd been having trouble with her memory. She remembered that she was 75, but didn't seem sure.

I was tempted to turn it off because I have three relatives with Alzheimer's. But I kept listening, and I heard a doctor speak with compassion about the struggles that his patients have. I listened to people talk about how hard it was to see loved ones lose memories. One nun mentioned a prayer that asks God to take our memories (I'm guessing for His use or glory), and how one of the nuns couldn't say that part. She wants to hold on to her memories. The people interviewed were sad, but I also sensed that they had a certain measure of peace.

Well, I have a certain measure of peace tonight too. I'm not angry right now, just a little tired. I feel loved, and hope that tomorrow I'm able to show some love. It's the sort of thing you can't keep to yourself. Not if you expect it to thrive.

Good night. Shalom.