"I have calmed and quieted my soul."

Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul,
         Like a weaned child with his mother;
         Like a weaned child is my soul within me. 
                                                   Psalm 131:2.



It has taken awhile.

Usually, in the fall, I am filled with a sense of calm and well-being. The lengthening days and increasing dark soothe me.

For a variety of seasons that simply did not happen this year.

Today is a gentle day. I am experiencing a sense of calm and content that has eluded me for a while. The sky is the clear cornflower blue that I love so dearly. The afternoon sunlight “pours in like butterscotch,”* and drenches everything in a golden glow. The light is almost visible.

The holidays are coming. I can listen to holiday music now without my family complaining (too much). I am not going anywhere this December, so I can look towards a hopefully not-too-stressful Christmas. The traditions of our family, which whatever the condition of my faith mean a great deal to me, are on the horizon: The Not-So-Little Drummer Boy will be home in a couple of weeks, there will be the annual tree hunt and decorating, and the latke dinner cooked by the Resident Shrink on the second night of Hanukkah. And this year, I may return to Midnight Mass, the comforting ritual of a Catholic upbringing. There are always the carols we sing on Christmas Eve evening, a holdover from The Rocket Scientist's family.

There will be the lights, and the annual trip around various neighborhoods to see the displays. The highlight for the past few years has been the ten-foot tall reindeer in Willow Glen. The lights bring me great joy.

This is not to say there is not a lot in my life right now that is cause for concern or sadness. I am still without a job, with all the economic and personal uncertainty that brings, and a close friend just lost hers. Various members of my family are going through times of great stress, even pain. I am there for them as much as I can be. I am still recovering from being sick, given to bouts of great fatigue. (I recognize that this may contribute to my sense of calm: I really do not have the energy to be stressed about anything.)

But my life is what it is.

And at just this very moment, that's okay.

*From “Chelsea Morning,” by Joni Mitchell.