Tranquility in Order

Many years ago, right after moving here, I went to a dentist. Before leaving, they asked me to schedule my next routine appointment. Since I had never done that before, it felt a bit exaggerated to book something six months in advance. But then I remembered the saying: “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” So, I did. After years of scheduling routine appointments for doctors and dentists ahead of time, I’ve realized the system is brilliant. We all need those checkups, and the sooner we schedule them, the better. It’s not just about securing a convenient time—it’s about making sure we don’t forget altogether. A couple of months ago, after dinner with friends, I suggested we set up our next meal right away—two months later. With our busy schedules, I wanted to maximize the chances that everyone could make it. To my surprise, everyone loved the idea, and it worked perfectly. That experience made me think: how many other things could we plan intentionally—things that don’t have an ulterior ...

I remember many years ago having a professor who earned our respect not by being intimidating or harsh, but by being kind and genuinely caring. He struck the perfect balance of knowledge, firmness, and compassion—a combination that made us want to arrive on time, pay attention, participate, study hard, and most importantly, never disappoint him. His approach was baffling to us. We were used to instructors who raised their voices to quiet the class. But this professor was different. He knew our names and cared about our stories. That simple act—learning our names—transformed him from a distant authority figure into someone we felt connected to. We weren’t just numbers to him. We weren’t another student passing through for a semester. And that made us feel special. It took me a while to understand the secret behind his authority. Unlike most authority figures I had encountered—except for my parents—he didn’t rely on threats, punishments, or fear. There were no lists of names, extra homew...

Curiosity is a wonderful thing. It keeps us wondering, questioning, and marveling at new discoveries. It challenges us to approach life from different angles—diving deeper, rethinking assumptions, and sometimes even stepping outside our comfort zones to explore an idea or prove an inner hypothesis. I once heard that we should do things as if it were the last time in our lives, so we can fully appreciate them. Later, I heard another perspective: live with a sense of naivety and curiosity, doing everything as if it were the first time. I prefer the second approach. The first feels a little dramatic and nostalgic—almost fatalistic. The second, however, invites openness and wonder. For a long time, I believed I wasn’t a curious person. I thought curiosity meant being interested in everything—trends, gossip, the latest news. Those things never appealed to me. But my definition was too narrow. I’ve always loved observing nature, understanding human behavior, and exploring ideas deeply. That,...

Over the years, I’ve noticed a recurring truth: every time my heart feels restless, it’s because of love—or the absence of it. Love is the ultimate reason behind almost everything we experience. Think about it: when someone walks into a room and doesn’t say hello, it’s not just a matter of bad manners. It makes you feel invisible. That sense of invisibility steals your peace because, deep down, you don’t feel loved by that person. And I mean not loved, which is different from unloved. When we feel a sense of injustice, it often stems from a lack of love toward someone. It could be as small as someone eating the last piece of cake without asking if anyone else wanted some, or as inconsiderate as not replacing the toilet paper roll. I remember once rushing to make it to a meeting on time, only to find my friends arriving 30 minutes—sometimes even an hour—late. The examples are endless, but here’s what I’ve realized: whenever our hearts feel battered, if we pause and dig deep enough, we’l...