Choose Peace Anyway

Some days, nothing goes right. You spill coffee on your shirt, get cut off on the highway, and someone misreads your tone in an email. Those are the days when it’s easy to feel small, frustrated, even angry. But here’s what I keep reminding myself: I can’t control everything that happens each day. I can control how I respond.

My goal—maybe a lifelong one—is to respond with joy, love, and understanding, even on the worst days. Because here’s a little secret: peace begins the moment we stop needing approval. Let go of what others think of you, and suddenly you’ve given yourself freedom. Real freedom.

Disagreements? They’re inevitable. Conflict? Guaranteed. But when it happens, the first to apologize is often the bravest. The first to forgive is the strongest. And the first to forget… well, they’re usually the happiest. Healing comes to those with the courage to do the hard inner work.

Now, about the haters—the people who criticize, doubt, or push back. They’re not always enemies. In fact, sometimes they’re proof that you’re moving, that you matter, that you’re living boldly. If no one talks behind your back, maybe you aren’t ahead of them. If someone tries to take what you’ve worked for, maybe it’s because you’ve built something worth taking. Criticism can be a strange form of admiration—our “haters” might just be fans who haven’t figured out how to clap yet.

Here’s the daily reminder I try to carry: I can’t control the weather of the day, but I can control the climate of my soul. I can choose peace instead of chaos. I can choose love instead of anger. I can choose to let go of the things I can’t fix, the things I can’t change, and even the things I might never understand.

Most days are imperfect. Some are downright miserable. But my survival rate for very bad days? 100%. Every. Single. Time. That, more than anything, tells me something. Peace isn’t a destination. It’s a choice. And it starts with letting go, choosing love, and showing up anyway.

Khakis, Cartoon Ties, and the Kingdom of God

I have never really left Catholic schools. Not for any meaningful stretch of time. Which means I have lived most of my life in a world of uniforms.

Uniforms are countercultural now. They whisper discipline in a culture that screams expression. They suggest order in a world that celebrates stretch. Trust me, middle schoolers attempt to stretch every conceivable line of that dress code. Hemlines. Sleeve lengths. Sock colors. The theological limits of what “solid navy” actually means. But we have uniforms. And teachers? We are supposed to model professionalism.

Ninety percent of my days look like this: khaki chinos, button-down shirt, tie (novelty on most days), fun socks, and tennis shoes about half the time because recess duty is cardio.

On Mondays, I let teachers wear jeans for a cause. Two dollars toward a charity or a scholarship fund. Mercy, but make it denim.

Then came a funeral. Most of the gentlemen wore suit jackets or blazers. Ties were optional. A friend from Houston leaned over and said, “I thought ties were a thing of the past?” A friend from California stopped by Goodwill to piece together a suit. For him, a tie was not optional. It was respect.

For me? If it is a day that begins with M, T, W, TH, or F, I am wearing a tie. Neck, bolo, or bow. Cartoon or classic. For the funeral, the Minions stayed home. I wore a grown-up tie.

This Saturday, I spent the day at the Robotics Jamboree at a local Jesuit high school; the mentors and teachers were in jeans, robotics shirts, and quarter-zips with the school crest. Relaxed. Productive. Engaged. Except for the religious sisters, bless their hearts, who looked like they stepped out of The Flying Nun.

The room buzzed with learning. Nobody looked underdressed. Nobody looked sloppy. They looked competent and comfortable.

I used to ask student ambassadors to wear their “Sunday best” at school events. I’ve softened on that. Have you seen what families wear to Mass now? Some students show up in sports uniforms because they’re heading straight to tournaments. At least they went to Mass. There is something admirable in that.

Which leads me to the question I’ve been quietly wrestling: Do clothes shape the culture, or does the culture shape the clothes?

Music has opinions. (ZZ Top) Sharp Dressed Man tells us every girl is crazy about one.
(Justin Timberlake) Suit & Tie insists confidence lives in the lapels. (The Kinks) Dedicated Follower of Fashion mocks obsession with trends. (Bowie) Fashion turns style into performance art. (Elvis) Blue Suede Shoes made footwear sacred.

And then there’s the old proverb: “Clothes make the man.”  Even Oscar Wilde once quipped that a well-tied tie is a serious step in life.

Is it or is it fabric stitched to habit?  Here is what I’m starting to suspect. Clothing does communicate. It always has. It signals respect. Intent. Occasion. Effort.

However, clothing does not create virtue.  A wolf can borrow a blazer. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing” still prowls.

Yet I cannot fully dismiss the discipline of dressing up. There is something about putting on a tie that tells my brain, “Today matters.” There is something about polished shoes that reminds me I am a professional, even when I’m limping across a playground.

Watching those robotics mentors in jeans, focused, joyful, effective, made me wonder if we have confused polish with purpose. Maybe professionalism is less about starch and more about posture. Less about lapels and more about leadership.

Maybe the real uniform is consistency. Presence. Competence. Care. Maybe “Sunday best” isn’t about the fabric at all, it’s about the intention. Maybe the deeper Catholic instinct behind uniforms was never about suppressing individuality. Maybe it was about leveling the field.

Khakis or quarter-zips. Cartoon tie or conservative silk. Goodwill suit or no tie at all. The question isn’t whether ties are passé. The question might be: “What are we trying to say?” Are we saying it with integrity?

Maybe I’ll keep wearing my ties, but I won’t require them of everyone else. I’ve seen men in Goodwill suits honor a friend beautifully. I’ve seen teachers in jeans shape minds with excellence. I’ve seen middle schoolers test the theological boundaries of “solid navy.”

If I can break up a kickball dispute in khakis and a bow tie, and a robotics mentor can inspire future engineers in a quarter-zip and sneakers, perhaps professionalism isn’t stitched into the fabric after all.

“Clothes make the man,” they say. Maybe clothes introduce you. Character keeps you relevant. If every girl is crazy ’bout a sharp-dressed man, as ZZ Top once reminded us… Well, I suppose I’ll keep a few sharp ties in rotation. Just in case.