Finding Peace in a Precarious World

Sometimes, it seems as though the very air shimmers with unease. The news, of course, is always a source of it – the endless churn of events beyond our influence. But it’s become more than just the news, hasn’t it? It's a feeling, a persistent hum of worry that settles in the bones. I've been thinking a lot about how to live with that, how to not let it consume you. Thirty-four years of teaching, of structuring days and shaping young minds, and then…this. A quiet house, a garden brimming with life, and a world that feels increasingly precarious.

I find myself returning to the notion of values. Not in some grand, philosophical way, but in the small, everyday choices. Deciding whether to respond to that email right away, or to put it off and tend to the tomatoes. Choosing to call Phyllis and simply chat, instead of scrolling through another article about the state of the world. It's about asking yourself, "Does this action align with what I hold dear?" For me, lately, that’s been a quiet sort of kindness—to myself, to others, to the earth. It's a rudder in a storm, something to steer by when you feel adrift.

Bernard, bless his heart, approaches things with a different sort of logic. He reads all those reports, the analyses, trying to make sense of it all. I understand the impulse, truly I do. But I've learned over the years that understanding doesn’t always equal control. And obsessing over what you *can't* control just amplifies the anxiety. He’ll sometimes ask me, “Aren’t you worried about…?” and I’ll just smile and say, “I’m tending my roses, dear. That’s what I’m doing right now.”

Boundaries. That’s another word that’s become increasingly important. Not in a rigid, “I won’t speak to you” sort of way, but in a gentler sense of protecting your energy. It's saying "no" to commitments that drain you, even if it feels difficult. It’s turning off the news when it becomes overwhelming. It’s choosing to spend an afternoon reading a book, even if someone asks you to do something else. I used to feel guilty about setting boundaries, as if I were letting someone down. Now I realize that I'm protecting something vital—my own inner peace.

This summer, I’ve been reading my astrology charts again, in a new light. It’s not about predicting the future anymore, but about understanding the patterns within myself, the areas where I’m naturally resilient, and the areas where I’m more vulnerable. It’s a map, not a destiny. And it’s shown me that I have a surprising amount of strength, a quiet tenacity that I didn’t fully appreciate before. That autumn equinox gathering with Phyllis, out in the garden—it was a moment of grace, a reminder of the simple beauty that still exists.

Acceptance, too, is a crucial element. Not in the sense of giving up, but in the sense of acknowledging what is, without judgment. The world *is* uncertain. Things *are* changing rapidly. We can’t pretend otherwise. Fighting against that reality only creates more suffering. It's like trying to hold water in your hands – the more tightly you grip, the more it slips away. Sometimes, the greatest strength lies in simply letting go.

I planted a new patch of lavender this year. It's a fragrant, calming presence in the garden. Tending it, watering it, watching it grow – it’s a small act of faith, a quiet affirmation that life continues, even amidst turmoil. And sometimes, that's all we can do—tend to the small things, nurture the beauty that surrounds us, and trust that it will be enough. It usually is.

Ultimately, I believe it comes down to finding your own anchors. Those values, those boundaries, those practices that ground you, that remind you of who you are, regardless of what’s happening in the world. It’s about cultivating an inner space of peace, a refuge from the storm. And perhaps, in doing so, we can not only weather the uncertainty, but also find a deeper appreciation for the preciousness of this fleeting, fragile life.