Een niz bogzarad (This too shall pass)

Meeting the hard knocks with a soft touch

I want to be the kind of person who doesn’t slam doors.

I want to speak softly and act softly and move softly about the world. I want to have soft reactions to sharp things. I want to meet hard knocks with a soft touch, unflappable in the face of adversity, calm in any crisis. I don’t want to be the kind of person within whom a cauldron bubbles, ready to boil over. I want still waters, unperturbed.

And I’ve done the work to become that kind of person, to override the rage and the petulance and the all too often hormonal inclinations that precede and perpetuate the swiftness of a door meeting its frame, the force of my anger in its vibrations.

I’ve sat in meditation and sat in a therapist’s chair and sat beneath a tree or at the edge of the Pacific or climbed a mountain just to sit at its peak because I know this manner of sitting is what produces peace. I have accumulated hundreds (maybe even thousands) of hours sitting in this way, tending to my spiritual hygiene, rendering my temperament suitable for human consumption.

In my youth, I was known for the sharpness of my tongue, the quickness of my venom. Before I knew better, I wore my rage as a badge of honor, prided myself on the fire in my belly. A colleague once accused me of having knee jerk reactions and I defended myself…with a knee jerk reaction. I swallow that specific interaction as a curative whenever I find myself defaulting to those old patterns, careful not to let a minor inconvenience mature into a major reaction. Cognizant of the peace I’ve earned and what it will cost me to give it up.

And most of the time, it works. Most of the time I am, without much effort, the kind of person who doesn’t slam doors—except when I’m not.