Journal Reflection: On Peace (and My Failed Attempts at Achieving It)

Green Madrigal (I) by Lynette Roberts
Peace, my stranger is a tree
Growing naturally through all its
Discomforts, trials and emergencies
Of growth.
It is green and resolved
It breathes with anguish
Yet it releases peace, peace of mind
Growth, movement.
It walks this greening sweetness
Throughout all the earth,
Where sky and sun tender its habits
As I would yours.

So apparently, I’ve spent years chasing peace like it’s a trophy.
You know, that fantasy where I’m living somewhere quiet, sipping tea, everything sorted. No chaos, no bad hair days, no people asking “Can I call you for five minutes?” (which is never five minutes).

That’s what I thought peace was.
A reward. A final destination.
A life where everything stops wobbling.

And then, I stumble upon this poem “Green Madrigal (I)” by Lynette Roberts.

Because Roberts basically says: peace is a tree. It doesn’t just stand there looking enlightened; it grows through mud, storms, droughts, and whatever nonsense the weather throws at it.

And that hit me.
Peace isn’t some magical state you unlock after paying your emotional taxes. It’s more like breathing half the time you don’t notice you’re doing it, and when you do, it’s probably because you’re hyperventilating.

I used to think peace meant being calm all the time like, permanently serene, always smiling from within, glowing gently like I’ve achieved inner nirvana and good lighting.
But then life reminded me that some days are just plain garbage. Some days, peace is just not throwing your phone across the room.

Turns out, peace and pain are roommates.
They coexist, argue over dishes, and somehow make the place livable.

It’s not the prize at the end of the storm. It’s the part of you that holds the umbrella while it’s raining sideways.

And yes, peace can show up when things are actually good too sitting in the sun, eating mangoes, realizing for one shining second that you’re not overthinking anything.
That’s peace too. It just feels softer, sweeter less like survival, more like gratitude.

In calm times, peace is rest.
In rough times, peace is grit.
Same peace, different outfit.

In pain, it holds you steady.
 In joy, it lets you breathe.

Peace isn’t about feeling good all the time it’s about feeling okay enough even when things are bad. It’s that quiet sense that, “Yeah, this sucks, but I’ll survive. I can handle this. I’m still me.”