Finding Peace
It may seem odd, but I’ve loved all the places I’ve ever lived. East to west, north to south, any place I’ve ever called home always brought something to the table. I imagine part of the reason for this is that I never heard my parents complain, although there is a chance I wasn’t listening. After all, for most of it, I was a child, just happy to be. The bottom line, however, is still the same. I remember my surroundings with fondness.
Now, as an adult, I find myself in another place that gives me pleasure, the Hill Country of central Texas. It’s changed markedly since I first started coming here as a child in the 50s to visit my grandparents, but the hills and valleys still make my heart race. As the ads are fond of saying, there are views. A vista from the crest of a hill, a low water crossing in a deep ravine, sun dappled pastures with wildflowers. There are things to see, and I enjoy seeing them.
I wonder sometimes, however, if being able to find contentment in this fashion is simply a way to manage inner turmoil. Because people are way more complicated than hills and rivers or waves breaking on shores. So, over the years, being able to find peace with my surroundings has gone a long way toward assuaging heartbreak and heartache. I don’t even need to talk. I can just sit and hurt until the hurt goes away and becomes like a gust of wind or a raindrop, a small thing, in a big, big world.