What Brings Me Peace?
Peace is not a scented candle, a yoga mat, or the sound of gentle rain, though all those are nice in theory, until the cat knocks over the candle, the yoga mat curls itself into a trip hazard, and the rain turns into an Irish downpour that soaks you from the knees down.
For me, peace is the delicious relief of not caring about things that don’t matter.
It’s the moment I stop fussing over bills I can’t magic away, material stuff I can’t take with me, and whether my brother think I’m respectable enough to park my car facing the “right” way on the drive.
Peace is a place where Bully, yes, that Bully, exists in another universe entirely. One where he’s too busy wrestling cosmic tax forms and chasing his runaway tractor through asteroid fields to meddle in this one. Maybe in that universe, the “Bully Truck” is just a rusty space shuttle that never starts, and the only person he can intimidate is a grumpy alien goat.
Here, in this universe, peace happens when my mind stops chewing on other people’s nonsense.
When I can sip my tea without the mental soundtrack of “shoulds” and “musts” blaring in the background. When my day is measured in sunsets and small joys, not invoices and petty dramas.
Because real peace isn’t the absence of noise, it’s the freedom to laugh at it. And if you’re lucky, you get to imagine the people who disturb your peace being relocated to a galaxy far, far away, where they can’t find their way back without a very complicated map.
Granny Frass always said:
“Mae, peace isn’t something you wait for; it’s something you claim. And sometimes claiming it means shutting the gate, turning off the radio, and letting the world spin itself silly without you.”
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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