Give peace a chance? Yes, please, says Steve Braunias.
Steve Braunias goes looking for peace.
Happiness visits regularly, love makes itself at home and while I'm on familiar terms with other various assorted states of wellness such as joy, delight, pleasure, excitement and plain old deep contentment, the one thing that doesn't come around much is the one thing that everyone wants: peace. I don't mean world peace. That's going too far. I mean the peace we hope for in our own life. Yeah. That elusive peace.
As the sort of person who lives and kind of thrives in a war-torn state, I think about peace quite a lot. I think about whether I'll ever get there and I think about the very few times in my life that I can remember when I've felt at peace. There were three times. Three times doesn't sound a lot. It's better than nothing. Right now there are people walking around who have never felt at peace, not once, not ever, the poor devils. A good number of them go into politics.
But what do we mean when we talk about peace? I think about that quite a lot, too. I want to know exactly what it is that I'm desperately hoping to achieve. There's a lot at stake. Peace is that thing John Key used to talk about all the time: peace is what happens at the end of the day. It's the final result, it's the summing up. It's the congratulatory speech; it's the gold watch on your way out the door. Peace is that thing you crave before you die. You want to rest in it.
It's the reward for your labours. That contributed to the time I felt at peace in Nelson. I had been on assignment further south, working on a difficult and emotional story and, in any case, I never much liked being away from home. But I'd booked flights for my girlfriend and our infant daughter to come to Nelson where we could just hang out for a few days. I missed them like mad. I was so looking forward to seeing them again. And the peace that came upon me was arriving in sunny Nelson in the morning and knowing that the three of us would soon be together. My work was done. I'd filed the story. I was about to go on a little holiday with my little family. This, I thought, is the life.
It was less a thought than an epiphany. Peace is something that arrives suddenly and by surprise, like a shooting star – you feel lucky to see it and experience it. It's a blinding light, it's the truth revealed. It's the answer, it's the prize. Christians and other maniacs pursue it for all its worth.
It often takes place in nice scenery. An epiphany of peace arrived one early evening when I took a walk along a seaside promenade on my first day in a new town. The sea crashed on the shore, the setting sun made a fire on the horizon. We held hands. We were official. We had got romantically involved in controversial circumstances but it was all going to work out, we were meant for each other, we were in love. I thought: "My whole life has narrowed to this one beautiful moment."
Peace is more than the end of the day: it's the start of the day. It's a new beginning; it's the sun coming up. It's the knowledge that everything is going to be just fine. It's the future and it's good. There are a lot of people who have this general feeling most or even all of the time. That must be nice.
Actually, peace isn't fussy about the setting. The last time I was blessed with its radiance and tranquility was in Henderson. Horrenderson, as its known, that shabby, creeky suburb out West, with its signs for RESIDENTS CARS ONLY and WINZ QUOTES ACCEPTED, its $2 shops and D hygiene ratings. I love Henderson. I feel at home. I kind of wasn't surprised when peace arrived one Friday afternoon while I was mooching around. It was like I was expecting it. My work was done. It was the end of the week; I had a weekend to look forward to with my little family. I felt so light of heart. Life was good and so was the future.
Peace is so easily shattered. But it comes to us all. I'm open to a fourth time around. I might have to settle for love, happiness, plain old deep contentment, etc but that's the thing about peace: it might arrive any second.