Composed; until further notice, maybe ...
~ when calm leaves the room, the reality of where we are is eclipsed by the struggle finding our way back in
Musings … my thoughts, every day since March 20, 2003 … now in my 24th year, haven’t missed a day; love the ‘likes’ - thanks to those who click the heart button, I’d love to see more comments and extensions of the conversation - so, please click the cloud-shaped balloon with your comments and/or suggestions - they make this writer better and are shared with all readers who get this publication.
I want to compose ~ want to be composed, and stay composed ~ to keep my composure.
That sounds elegant until the day behaves like an overturned filing cabinet with opinions and some attitude …
Maybe calm doesn’t deserve a permanent address.
Maybe it’s a room we keep returning to after the windows rattle.
Yes, I want to compose, be composed, and keep my composure; all so easy to say.
Harder when the day begins behaving like an overturned filing cabinet with opinions, and I’m flattened somewhere beneath the paper, pressure, and miscellaneous evidence of modern life.
Yesterday brought joys, stresses, blocked paths, obstacles, and obstinate people, each arriving with excellent timing, but without an appointment.
So, when composure fails, what am I then?
De-composed?
Decomposing?
Or merely losing it, but with better vocabulary?
What do we call ourselves when we’re not composed, and why are we so quick to treat that as failure?
Calm doesn’t have a permanent home address.
Maybe calm is not meant to have a consistent location, maybe it can be calm and of ‘no fixed address’ …
It’s a room we keep returning to after the noise, friction, interruption, and fatigue of the day have rattled our windows.
Some days I find the door quickly.
Some days I stand in the hallway, muttering useful-sounding words while my better self refuses to take the meeting.
I tell myself I can be rattled and still remain unfinished.
That seems true.
It also annoys me, because knowing something and choosing it aren’t the same species of achievement.
I seem able to return to composure anytime I want.
I just don’t choose to as often, or as easily, as I say I can.
Which leaves me wondering whether I don’t really want to, or whether I can’t, yet.
Composure may not be the absence of rattling, but the stubborn decision to keep returning before the noise gets to rename us.