Equanimity

Let it go. Her daily mantra. Sometimes hourly.

Her brother doesn't return her call? Let it go. She leaves yet another message, the fourth or fifth, she isn't sure which, in three days.

Wet towels on the bathroom floor? Let it go. She gathers up the mess and dumps it in the hamper.

A car rear ends her at the stoplight? Let it go. She smiles, exchanges insurance info, calls the tow truck.

In the end, a small thing breaks her. Insignificant. Anyone else would ignore it. She can't. She lets go and wonders who will clean up the mess.