When Worry Meets Wisdom

My elderly neighbour Joan passed away this week.

She was 100.

Joan had the bright eyes of a ten year old in the delicate body of a 100 year old.

Joan stayed up all night to watch tennis or cricket in the Northern hemisphere on occasions, and used to leave me in no doubt what she thought of Nick Kyrgios’s latest tantrum when we crossed paths.

I arranged to meet with Joan a few years ago to discuss my desire to replace the deteriorating fence between our two properties.

Just as I started to deliver my pitch on the advantages a new fence would bring to her and began to show her the paperwork I'd prepared, she put her frail hand on my knee.

Smart as a whip, Joan could sense I was about to launch into a long and detailed pre-rehearsed spiel, and she stopped me mid-sentence.

Her face and eyes lit up and an easy smile spread across her face.

“Michael, I don’t worry about these things.”

It was a smile that came from a life well lived and an uncommon wisdom.

It was not that Joan did not care about the fence.

She simply didn’t let matters like this get the better of her.

The conversation I had planned for never eventuated.

All my preparation and worrying amounted to nothing.

Joan didn't mind if I wanted a new fence, and didn’t see any point in signing my paperwork to confirm this.

Reflecting on this conversation as I left her home, I realised that while I flailed against the natural chaos and turbulence of life and moved relentlessly from one “Things to Do” list to another, I had just sat across from a woman at peace with the world and whatever the future may bring her.

Her words brought to mind one of my favourite sayings.

“Serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace within the storm.”

It’s a proverb I love, but do not live.

It’s easy to oversimplify these things, or preach the value of calm in a complex and often frustrating world, but Joan’s matter-of-fact way and wise counsel left me with a sense that I had much to learn about how to live my best life.

It occurred to me when writing this that I should probably not use Joan’s real name, and use a pseudonym instead.

Then I realised that this is precisely the type of thing Joan would think ridiculous.

“Why worry about small things Michael,” she might say.

Rest in peace Joan.