Pausing.

The strangest sense of peace has settled over me the past few days. Even as the world's instability rages on, even as The Frontier slips slowly into the long, gray days of winter, I am at peace.

For the record, I am not a peaceful person. I am a peacemaker - the very thought of conflict makes my stomach not and my bed look more inviting than ever - but I am not internally peaceful. If I smoked, I'd be one of those nervous chain-smokers depicted in iconic movies from the 1950s. I fidget. I worry. I obsess. I am slightly neurotic, Type A and an adrenaline junkie. I like to solve problems, and I hate to be told I can't do something.

Somehow, right now, that's not me (well, except for the fidgeting part). This morning, there was a story of a mother, so desperate for money, she watered down her infant's formula and nearly killed him - not knowing the danger extra water poses to an infant. I wept, grateful that our myriad of job issues in the last 18 months have never left us so destitute as to have to worry about how to feed Woodstock, let alone ourselves. I was grateful for my work history, my education - that gives me a better chance, even in a bad economy, of being able to support my family when necessary.

On the way to the office today, I listened to Woodstock chatter in her car seat - waving "hi" to passing cars, talking to her "ayato" (alligator) - just rambling in that cute, broken baby English way of hers. I thought how grateful I was for health insurance - something I had never been without until this year. I thought how grateful I was for Woodstock's pediatrician, who made me promise that if I brought Woodstock in for all her well baby visits (not bringing her had never crossed my mind), even while uninsured, that she would only charge me the $25 I had been paying for co-pays. She wrote off the rest of the visit. I thought how grateful I am for two cars that are in good condition - and that the $300 I have to put into one this month is for tires and not for a "patch job" that, along with prayers, would be the only thing keeping it running.

And, for the first time, I thought about how grateful I am to be in The Frontier - away from the near-toxic gluttony that surrounded me daily - in both my work and personal life.

I'm certain I know from where this sense of serenity is originating, but it is puzzling that I have allowed it to linger so long. Last December was a cold, bleak month where the holidays held no magic, no allure, no respite. This year, I've happily set out to do holiday baking, the tree is up, and I'm gleefuly preparing for a holiday filled with love and family.

And for that, I am most thankful.