A peaceful solution
It turns out that elusive sense of inner calm may just be hiding in plain sight.
the elusive search for inner calm
PAT McDERMOTT:
TM he kids want me to find my “inner calm”, I told the MOTH (the Man of The House) over the first cup of tea of the day. “Check the hall table. Maybe you left it there,” he mumbled from behind the newspaper. The MOTH hates talking or listening, first thing in the morning.
“I always used to be calm,” I said. “I remember being calm most of the time. People used to remark how calm I was, considering we had five small children.”
“You were a lot of things when the kids were small,” he replied. “But you were never calm. You had the police, the doctor, the vet, the milkman and Miss Fogarty on speed dial.”
“That was just in case of an emergency,” I sniffed.
“Miss Fogarty taught Latin. Who has Latin emergencies.”
“You never know. You might find yourself in court one day, for example, and wish you knew what ‘habeas corpus’ or ‘carpe diem’ meant,” I said cheerfully.
“I know what ‘carpe diem’ means! It means ‘seize the day and head to the beach’,” he said, grabbing a towel. “There is nothing like a swim to make me feel calm.”
I was taking a different tack. I was going to find my inner calm at a stretch and meditate class at the bowling club down the road. I wasn’t sure I could stretch and meditate at the same time, but hopefully someone would show me how.
The instructions said “loose, comfortable clothing”. Is there any other kind, I thought? It turns out there is. Some people were wearing tight pink lycra. Mostly blokes.
With a sharp clap of her hands the instructor brought us to order. “No talking allowed,” she announced. “And I mean NOT AT ALL! Not even to ask where everyone’s going for coffee afterwards. No discussing schools or hairdressers or what kind of bicycle you just bought.”
I looked around in fear. Was I in a group that rode bicycles? I hadn’t since 1969 and it hadn’t ended well.
“You’re to sit on the floor and cross your legs, hands beside you on the floor. You’re to take deep breaths. Keep a gentle smile on your face at all times but let your mind wander. Follow it wherever it goes. I’ll be watching.”
My mind wandered, I took deep breaths and smiled gently. But a week and two sessions later I was no calmer. I decided to try yoga. It was harder, the mats thinner and the people eerily calm. I had trouble getting up from the floor but everyone pretended not to notice. I limped home and had a hot bath.
Next a friend suggested reformer Pilates but the ropes and pulleys and scaffolds made me think of the French Revolution and not in a good way. Right now tai chi is looking promising, but in the meantime I decided it was time for an emergency lunch with my besties.
We gossiped and shared photos of our darling children and grandchildren. As we ate toasties and drank skim cappuccinos I felt my inner calm returning. Turns out it’s all about friends. Always was. Always will be. My friends and I decided two things. First, the correct and only answer to a 20-something son who asks, “Mum, have you seen my old wetsuit?” is to say, “It’s in the upstairs closet behind 20 boxes of textbooks, a stack of old board games, two wedding dresses, the doll’s house, your dad’s dinner suit, five school blazers, the Christmas decorations, a fish tank and 68 photo albums.”
And second, we’ll grow old together, slowly, whining and dragging our feet like the tired toddlers our children once were. That way nobody will put us to bed until we’re good and ready.