Normally when I write about the Peace I find in the pool, it’s all about me — the water, the rhythm, the quiet.
But yesterday’s Peace was brought to us by a 92-year-old Hungarian emigré.
It’s one of those decisions I juggle. Do I speak to people I don’t know when I’m wearing a few ounces of nylon. It’s a vulnerability thing. I once had a woman introduced to me, who decided based on the introduction what my politics were and why she abhorred them, and i thought, what? I’m in my happy place and you’re going off? blah.
But, my natural curiosity makes me susceptible. And in this case, it was a lovely contact.
We who whine often don’t stop to think about why this place is valuable. We often spend more time whining than making things even better. Because truth to tell, if you travel at all or live abroad, you realize how many things are good here…
So why not work to make them better. Wringing our hands never did much to make things work…
and then, after Monsieur L’Emigré climbs out, my other favorite nonagenarian dropped into the pool. Another political conversation ensued.
What a delightful world we live in.
Peace is waiting to be picked up and celebrated. It’s in our hands.
And, along those lines did you vote? Because Peace is in our hands, and it’s lucky we are that’s so.