He

He sits in his room. One of his students is taking a test, so the others are reading quietly, respecting the need of the one to concentrate. The air handlers hum in the ceiling above him. Seconds tick off the clock to his right, and the building trades engraving machine grinds on and off across the hall. He sniffles to clear his nose for better breathing, and then scratch it; allergy season has arrived. Others in the room are experiencing similar symptoms, but the noises are few.

The most common noise in the room is the sound of his typing. Why not stop and enjoy the silence? It’s something he learned from his father; silence, that is, not typing. The ability not to fill every gap with talk. Go ahead and exist. Be.

A door slams shut in the hall, breaking his reverie. Being was pleasant there for a few minutes. Some people don’t like just being, and sometimes it’s not enough for him, either. He needs to be something. Be what? Be thankful. Be content. Be considerate. Be forgiving. Be slow to anger. Be repentant. Be loving. Be aware. Be thoughtful. Be helpful. Be careful. Be kind. Be wise. This could go on forever. His father taught him all of these things, too. When he was a child he thought like a child, he reasoned like a child, he acted like a child, but when he grew up, he put aside childish things, isn’t that what his father taught him? And then he thinks, “Adulting is hard, but it is also rewarding. Time to be at peace.”