Tragedy unfolding
It was Wednesday, May 30. Until crawling into the SUV for the commute home, I was blissfully unaware of the multiple tragedies that scarred the day. Four people had been brutally murdered in Seattle. Three were patrons at Cafe Racer—one woman and two men—and the fourth was a woman simply trying to exit a parking lot. One man, an employee of the cafe, survived the attack and was at the hospital.
For 70 minutes, the airwaves were choked with details about the violence unleashed by what turned out to be the acts of a single, mentally disturbed man. For 70 minutes, I clung to the broadcaster's every word, hating what I was hearing, weeping for the loss of life but unable to turn off the radio.
Comfort zone
By the time I walked into a favorite local market in my home territory, I felt as limp as a well-worn rag doll. Cynthia, one of the store's florists who I had known for nearly 12 years, called out to me. Welcoming the distraction from my thoughts, I scurried over to the floral counter where Cynthia excitedly told me about a Gunnera plant (far left cell in the banner) she had found in a yard of a house in her neighborhood. As Cynthia drew a crude map on the back of a scrap of paper that pointed to the location of the house, she excitedly told me that the plant was two years younger and more than twice the size of the one she had and said, "You have to see this Gunnera," and telling me, with a note of surprise in her voice, that the owners used horse manure for fertilizer. I smiled.
After buying a few food items, I exited the store, but not before Cynthia again encouraged me to find the Gunnera plant and reminded me to get out of the car and walk to the house. Since I didn't have a physical address, an on-foot search would be necessary.
A sigh of relief
Still weighed down by the commute and a layer of gloom, I searched for and found the house with the enormous Gunnera plant and when I walked up to the front yard and peered over the weathered gray fence felt my spirit lift.
A calm washed over me as I gazed upon the garden. The gloom was dispeled by the array of colors and how wonderfully the flora had been arranged. It was a much needed reminder that being immersed in nature relieves my stress. Although the memory of an act of horrendous human ugliness lingered, it no longer consumed me. The pagentry of nature did.
Finding the calm means something different for everyone. Some people play sports, some read books, some sing, some practice yoga or pump iron, some ride bicycles or horses, and some sit in silent contemplation. What matters is dialing back and shutting down the noise long enough to find the calm.
Another reminder
As I wrapped up composition of this story, a verse I wrote a year ago—one I intend to use as a message on tee shirts, cups, bags, etc.—rose to the forefront of my thoughts. It's an appropriate close to my story about finding the calm. The message is simple: Pause more, breathe deeply, live wisely.
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