I’m a worrier. I was born to ruminate, to ponder and to plan. My worry gene is rooted deeply-you might say it is generational. My Granny, who lived with us growing up was an amazing woman, but she was known as fussy woman-in other words; a worrier. Granny was the woman who fed and watered and mithered over us. She was the woman, who on my first day of secondary school, rose at the crack of dawn and made sure I had eaten for breakfast and had the right socks, of all things. She was the woman who made sure I had a spare pen for my exams, the passport when I decided to take off to live afar and she always drilled into me the idea of pin money. Always have a few quid stashed away for a taxi, or the “way home”. One day she told me that all this worry over small things would mean I wouldn’t worry about the big things.
Now being my Granny’s granddaughter, I naturally worry about the small things, endlessly. I have literally years of experience clocked up fretting about car parking spaces, timetables, work schedules, paperwork, even, for the love of God, fecking socks. And since having children, well not only do I have to worry about myself-but about the small things that bother other living, breathing humans too. Yahoo, such joy, multiplying all that worry, yes?
Look, it’s not going to change anytime soon, the small worries of this world. I have accepted that this is my inherent nature to fret a little.
But, Granny was right. I’ve had BIG worries lately. Worries without an end in sight, or so it seemed in the early days. And folks, I will admit, I nearly went under that old ton of bricks.
Until last Tuesday at about 4.55 pm. Yes, I know, dear readers, I like to have my revelations at the most mundane of times. (Feel free to step off the roller-coaster of this blog, anytime, if you feel the excitement is getting too much!) . What happened that day? Firstly, I simply realised that my worse fears had been recognised in the last 6 months. Secondly, I realised that we had survived these fears, not only survived them, but managed them. And in that ordinary moment, in my ordinary car, driving to my ordinary suburb, I felt a sense of peace and calm that I can only describe as pure and utter freedom of being, a rare sense of almost floating….
That was until the petrol gauge beeped yellow and my small worry meter shot up again, of course…….
Food for thought folks