Peace of mind in a closet

When was the last time you felt fully at peace? I’m talking about the kind of peace that fills you and settles you down the way a pot roast does, where you can put up your feet and rest into a deep satisfaction with life.

I count my blessings and express gratitude for my good fortune even on the toughest of days, but I gotta say there’s just not a lot of peace going on anywhere in the world.

Last week, my friend Sally, who I briefly dated in high school, was heard to say that the only time she feels at peace anymore is when she’s on the shooting range or getting herself dolled up with another tattoo. Her last tattoo, an image of a red fishnet stocking running up the full length of her left leg and thigh, was the talk of the town for a while, drawing men from near and far into her local jewelry shop for a gander.

Despite all that attention, it didn’t bring her peace. Yesterday, to my surprise, she stopped by here to tell me she was done with this place, that it was no longer in harmony with her spirit.

Being that it’s not polite to pry into a woman’s affairs, I had no reason to ask questions, but at minimum I was interested in knowing where she planned to go. When I asked, she shrugged mindlessly. So I wondered out loud what place is any better than this place. Every community has its share of barnacles and carbuncles, even the best.

“Well,” she said, “life’s a beast, you know. Everyone’s pissed off ‘cause no one’s got a pot to piss in…no one’s got spending money and sure as hell no one’s having a lick of fun any more. Life’s turned into some crazy shit I don’t understand…hell, Buck, nothing feels right any more.”

Then she said, “The worst part is when I talk to friends who can hardly feed themselves, well, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t have the means to help them neither. You know, everyone’s buying cheap jewelry on Amazon these days—no one’s buying nothing at the shop, they all come in to hock what they got.”

After more talking, I understood that Sally’s rash decision to throw in the towel was springing up from a well of fear. Leaving town is her way of escaping the listless present desert she finds herself in.

I’m no stranger to conjuring my own perturbing thoughts, but over the years I’ve managed to work out an escape route that won’t disrupt my whole life. It’s pretty simple and costs nothing. No shrinks, therapists, coaches, and the likes. So I explained it to her, and that seemed to settle her since she left with a hug and smile on her face.

Maybe what I do to shut the negative whirlwind up is not for everyone. Maybe you’ve got means to lay your woes at the foot of a good shrink. Maybe you go to mass and confess. Maybe you burn sage or sweetgrass or meditate, chant, or do laughing yoga. It’s all good work and I praise you for doing whatever it takes to get you some peace of mind. For me, it begins with a walk into my closet where I turn on the light and reach for my keepsake box.

Inside that box are heart-warming mementos and some letters and photographs that got me to where I am today. Each provides grist for my spiritual mill, bringing me back to my core and true north, leaving me refreshed and relaxed as if I’d spent an hour in a jacuzzi. Magically, my angst evaporates, and I feel strong and reasonable again.

Everyone has a keepsake box, even if they’re just your most precious memories tucked inside your brain. Sit down, kick back, and indulge in that sweetness. If your memory’s a bit rusty, ask your highest power to help you out. I guarantee it’s all there for you and, trust me, you’ll be surprised what surfaces to calm you down. Inside my box was also a little quote someone gave me from a poet named Henri-Frederic Amiel. I kept it because it described “gratitude” in a novel way that I could apply to my life. I thought you might like it, too:

“Thankfulness is the beginning of gratitude. Gratitude is the completion of thankfulness. Thankfulness may consist merely of words. Gratitude is shown in acts.” That’s the key. Don’t just say, “Thank you, Almighty.” Go out and do something kind to show the favor back.