I appreciated the sense of humor that the class had. "A sense of humor is so valuable" I told them. "The older we get, life can get more sucky. With a sense of humor, we will be able to laugh them away" I told them.
I have no pretensions that anybody cared for what this most interesting old man had to say. The few students who want to engage with me find that I am a happy guy who laughs at his own jokes even when they are about him.
The silly happiness, I have come to realize, lies on a foundation of contentment. A peaceful sense of contentment even when I drown in my own sorrows. Even when I read, and blog about, depressing Russian literature.
I wondered whether a poem might say all these and more. Well, not about the sense of humor but about feeling content.
I went to my go-to-site for poems. A link there "poems for women's history month." I was reminded of the female poet's verse that we read back in high school.
I scanned the poems. I read a couple. I felt like the women poets were letting me down.
And then I came across this one. Perfect!
Yes, "Be still, I am content ... joy [is] a flame in me"