Growing up in my family, calmness was a virtue, admired by almost everyone but me. When I was particularly upset, or worried, or any variety of emotion, “calming down” was the first solution; when family friends or extended relatives brought their energetic children to holidays or events, it was a great insult if, later, in the privacy of our home, the children were described as being anything other than calm. Recently, my aunt got a puppy; watching the way he interacted with people and other dogs, the only review I overheard of him was, “That’ll be a good dog. He’s calm”.
Well, I’ve never been a fan of calm. And I’ve never BEEN calm. Don’t get me wrong— calm is okay, and I can respect calm. I just can’t BE calm. And neither can Bear... we are, at all times, worked up about something; maybe it’s something spectacular, like a short jaunt through the woods in the early morning when we simply can’t contain our contentment...or maybe it’s something that knocks us down for a moment and we need to let it all out before picking ourselves up. Either way, I think, genuinely, that it’s our nature. I think that no amount of child-rearing or training could have made us anything less than truly and utterly uncalm. And that’s okay by me; I’ll take being the storm over being the calm.
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