I’m fairly calm. When one problem builds on another into a concatenation of catastrophes, I tend to keep my cool.
No – not because I haven’t a clue about how bad things are. But because I can imagine them being worse. (That’s my theory anyway.) It’s come in handy over the years working in live broadcasting where the unexpected is not that, well, unexpected.
But calmness is not the same as serenity.
To be calm is to remain focussed and carry on, no matter what.
To be serene is to embrace the slings and arrows – or children piled on top of you while you’re trying to read – and feel an extra warm mmmm of contentment.
To calm is to withstand being poked.
To be serene is when the poking, pulling, jagging and squashing feels as though you’re being stroked.
Whilst wearing plush velour.
And the same post-coital grin as Sally, post Harry.
Calmness I do.
Serene? That’s rarer.
(The Loose Bloggers Consortium prompted the above. You can find them listed in the right hand column – just scroll down a little. While purring.)