Field Notes: Choosing My Peace

I've been choosing my peace.

I spend very little time in places that thrive on outrage.

I've never felt compelled to keep up with headlines.

Originally—ironically—I wanted to be a journalist. Before that, a veterinarian. Before that, an artist. And before that, a cowgirl with dinosaurs. All of it before I knew the world beyond my home, my neighborhoods, and my schools.

My world was very small for a very long time. And I craved a taste of something bigger. Not because it was better but because my small world felt suffocating. So I strived to get outside of it with some small success.

But over the last twenty years, I've learned the wheel will turn.

The pendulum will swing.

It always has.

And it has nothing to do with me.

And even more, if I concern myself with it or people who do, it unsettles my peace.

I’m not on anyone’s team or side.

I'm more interested in the rising and setting of the sun and moon.

I choose the things that deepen my life instead of distract from it.

I walk in the woods. I notice wildflowers, butterflies, mushrooms, moss, squirrels, snakes, vultures, osprey, cardinals, and more.

I bike through them. I notice less but i feel the breeze, smell the pine, smell the jasmine, smell the marsh, smell the sea.

I tend my imperfect, uneven garden.

I cook dinner with vegetables I've had success with.

I compost the ones i didn’t have success with.

I pour a glass of wine to slow the evening. To savor it. Or sparkling water. Depending.

I rescue old furniture, old clothing, old recipes, and sometimes old pieces of myself.

I shop secondhand because I love the stories hidden in well-worn things.

I choose music that settles my mind or tells me stories.

I watch shows that leave me feeling as though I've spent time in someone else's world.

What I invite into my home eventually finds its way into my heart.

So I choose carefully.

I curate.

The books I read.

The music I play.

The films I watch.

The artists I admire.

The conversations I give my attention to.

I'm not trying to escape the world.

I'm trying to live more fully within my own life.

I am a real person.

Pressure to conform irritates me.

I don't need it.

It's brought me more unhappiness than peace.

I've never wanted to build my identity around the loudest voices or the latest argument. My values don't depend on whether they're fashionable, widely shared, safe, or accepted.

I find more meaning in ordinary days.

A peaceful afternoon with my family in my home.

Good music.

Tomatoes warm from the garden.

A wonderfully strange rescued cat asleep nearby, making her odd little growling sleep noises. Across the room, a shepherd mix answers in his sleep—moofing, chasing, twitching his feet. Both, I imagine, dreaming of wide-open places and fenceless adventures.

Dinner in the oven.

The satisfaction of making something with my own hands.

Kneading dough is therapeutic.

That's the kind of life I curate.

Whether I'm living on this little island or one day somewhere in the mountains, my world doesn't have to be enormous to be rich.

The outside world will always try to tell me what deserves my attention.

These days, I choose myself.

And that has brought me more peace than I ever expected.