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3. Finally, seek meaning in the present. My grandfather and I didn’t have many deep, philosophical discussions, so my understanding of his belief system is based almost exclusively on what I watched him do. Though the product of a Scots Presbyterian family, he came to a sect of Christianity who called themselves Christians (the more pejorative local term was Go Preachers). They led an austere lifestyle, attended services in people’s homes rather than at churches (thus the Go Preacher name), and had a fundamentalist understanding of the Bible. Apparently my grandparents found this too severe a manner in which to bring up children, so once their family arrived, they left the church. Ultimately, I’m not sure what my grandfather considered himself, spiritually speaking, or if he thought of it at all. I do know that he gave land to a small parish of the United Church of Canada, though I don’t believe he ever attended a service (other than funerals) within its walls. He never spoke harshly of any other person, and he was the least judgmental person I have ever met. He raised his family to respect others, and he found meaning and purpose in his children and in nature.

So there was my recipe for Tranquillity. Perhaps it is too austere for most modern Westerners, but it was okay for my grandfather, so it’s okay for me . . . at least in short bursts. I decided that this would be my formula for the rest of the week. I would follow my grandfather as much as I follow Ben Franklin: limited use of the computer, little television (you’ll remember my last attempt at restricting TV in the house—I wasn’t up to another family mutiny), and as much peace and quiet as I could handle.

{ Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one.}

I was just glad my grandfather didn’t chant.

Don’t Mess with Yanni

The rest of the week was as I had hoped—tranquil. The only problem with a peaceful week is that it’s uneventful. Not necessarily much to report.

I suppose that given my work, an absence of agitation, aggravation, and drama might be a real success. Come to think of it, it might be a miracle. Indeed, just like my success with Cleanliness, I was feeling a little smug about Tranquillity. After I had rather cavalierly sauntered through the week, I should have known that Ben Franklin would not let me off so easily. I got a good old case of comeuppance—Yanni style.

Every year the prosecutors in my jurisdiction gather as a group at an annual meeting meant to be part continuing legal education and part management update. If you asked the attendees, however, they would almost all agree that it is, at its best, a social event. War stories and cold beer, munchies and shared laments. With friendships renewed, there is a general feeling of relief, I think, to know that others inhabit the same world as you, wake up to the same problems, and go off to bed with the same mixture of hope and horror that is the brew of the modern prosecutor.

This year, ironically, the agenda included a session on stress management. As I described above, I have a healthy disregard for the psychological sciences, a suspicion of New Age spirituality, and a high opinion of personal stoicism. “Cowboy up” is my family motto (well, one of them). The simple truth: My excuse for being so offhanded about Tranquillity beyond what I’ve already described is that I am not terribly empathic. I do not see the need for outside assistance to overcome life’s little troubles. I need no purveyor of psychobabble to tell me to breathe deeply and own the emotion. I espouse a minimalist mantra for stress management. Cowboy up!

The afternoon of the stress management lecture arrived, and my jaded view of psychology overcame my fear of my superiors. Attendance at the event was not optional, and generally I would never disregard a mandatory work event, but this was stress management. Come on, I thought to myself, surely prosecutors don’t need someone who has never looked a murderer in the eye during cross-examination