As someone with an anxiety disorder, I often find peace to be very far away. Sometimes it feels like peace is found only in the shape of certain, perfect moments: a year ago, lying on a sailboat in the Caribbean sun; a recent Sunday, with a Gospel Choir singing a song from my childhood. Peace feels like a set of uncontrollable variables, coming together for a brief time, then gone forever.
And that’s one definition, certainly. But peace is also a process.
Peace is coming to terms with yourself and your emotions, striking a balance between acceptance and change. It’s not just the victory parade after the war – it’s discovering what post-war life is like. It’s learning to breathe.
I can’t spend all my time on mountaintop trails or an acupuncturist’s table. I will never feel at peace all the time, because life doesn’t work that way. I will always have to find a balance between what I want to do and what I can do. But I’m not a hostage to peace.
I’m part of the process.