As suffering swirls, there is a calmness inside. I do not worry. I have hope that love makes a difference. I am detached from drama. I find joy in mundane interactions. I do not fear mistakes. I no longer need to be the best. It is a very strange calm. And I wonder if the calm is because life is generally good. Or is life good because of the calm? How would I respond to a family tragedy? What if I became seriously ill, or more difficult, if husband or daughter or sister or brother became ill. I feel like I’m in a zone, able to endure what comes my way.