I don’t carpool. I’ve been asked (repeatedly) by various families at my daughter’s school, but I decline. Year after year, other parents extol the virtues of the carpool: convenience, community, a reduced carbon footprint, and the comfort of knowing that others are available to help with the long commute. Year after year, I give a variation of the same excuse for not joining the carpool: I enjoy the one-on-one time with my daughter in the car (true), and I don’t mind the drive (also true).

But there are other reasons holding me back, namely that I don’t like to depend on other people for favors or conveniences. Some may think I have a psychological problem or early childhood wounds that preclude me from trusting people and engaging in this kind of quid pro quo arrangement. But honestly, I don’t think that’s the case. I simply don’t sign on for situations (such as sending my child to a school across town) if it requires me to count on others to make it happen. The idea of relying on other people to provide a safety net feels uncomfortable to me.

Which got me thinking: What kind of safety net do I want? Do I want one at all? Do I have one?

To answer that, I would first have to  define what it means to have a safety net. The obvious answer is that a safety net means having resources–people, money–to catch you if you fall or find yourself in a crisis. There is no question that good friends and financial means can be a godsend in a pinch. But when we find ourselves in dire straits, it’s a path we walk alone. And we certainly can’t buy our way out of real problems, making money of limited value when the chips are down.

I’m in no way discounting the importance of true friendship and the kindness and generosity that people demonstrate in our darkest hour of need. I have been on the receiving end of tremendous support, a fact for which I’m very grateful. But no matter how well meaning and concerned people are, we ultimately have to face difficult situations alone; we make decisions and we live with the consequences. And then there is the reality of human frailty: we will, at times, be let down by people we thought we could count on.

So a safety net has be more than external. It can’t be predicated on what other people do or don’t do. It has to exist beyond the realm of daily conveniences and favors from others. It has to be a place–a mindset–that we can tap on our own. In yoga or in religion, it might be called a Sacred Space or even, simply, Peace.

Peace can be surprisingly elusive, especially in troubled times. Anguish feels like the very opposite of peace; it feels chaotic, uncertain, scary. The ability to find peace when you are at your most restless is the only true safety net we have. Sure, the net might include or involve other people, but it must be accessed and set up on our own.

Whether we find peace, calm and quiet in nature, on our yoga mat, in meditation, or in some other venue, it’s less of a destination and more of a state of mind. It can be shared with other people. We can take solace from those who have walked before us, we can learn from them. But they can’t learn our lessons for us and they can’t save us from difficulty or pain.

I’m learning that my own personal safety net–my peace–comes from keeping my own counsel, thinking for myself, living according to my own unique and specific set of values and circumstances.  The closer my actions align with my values and my internal compass, the closer I am to peace. An intimate friend or relative might help me explore or bring me in touch with any chasm between my behavior and my values, but the path to aligning the two–and to finding peace–comes from me alone.

Like everyone, I appreciate the important benefits to being part of a community. Be it the school, the neighborhood, the yoga studio, or friends and family, being surrounded by love and support makes hard times easier. But even if those people or affiliations disappeared, I could still tap my Sacred Place.

And that’s all the safety net I need, which is good, because it’s also the only real safety net I’ll ever have.