I can’t control the weather. The cold that stings every bone in my body making simple tasks like changing and bathing unbearable. Or the heat that brings upon the flies and moldy food to damper any good mood.
I can’t control the stares. The open-mouth gaping that occurs when people see me run through the village or carry water from the tap. Their eyes pierce through me and I am terrified, yet passive, of their judgment.
I can’t control that things aren’t done the way I would do them. That chores are more important than education. That beating a child with a stick is the only sensible punishment.
I can’t control that my phone service isn’t working, that the electricity is out or that the pump has no water so I am forced to draw from the questionable well.
I can’t even control my reactions. That sometimes my patience is gone and I can’t stop my temper from boiling.
I can control my home. I can mop its floors, carefully put away my toiletries and stack the dishes neatly after a wash.
I can control whether or not I take a nap that day and for how long.
I can control what I read and spend my free attention focused on.
The things I can control in this life are few compared to what I can’t and sometimes they are the only things keeping my sanity intact. But as long as they get me through to the next day, I am OK with them.