Day Seventeen: Your Personality on the Page
Today’s Prompt: We all have anxieties, worries, and fears. What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears. Today’s Twist: Write this post in a style distinct from your own.
My worst fear? That’s tough to narrow down. I have a lot of fears. I know it’s not good, and I’m always striving to overcome. I’m beginning to believe that we each struggle in different ways here on earth. While the goal is obviously to be free of that which entangles us, I’m not sure that’s entirely possible this side of heaven.
I think one of my biggest fears is something happening to my husband or my teenagers. Every time my husband travels I struggle to not let my mind run wild with what-ifs. I suspect some of my need to control comes from a desire to eliminate all that could go wrong. When my husband is on a different continent, the number of things that could go wrong increase, at least in my mind, exponentially. While at the same time my ability to do anything about any of them decreases at the same rate. It’s a perfect storm.
We were talking the other day with our kids about whether or not we believed in soul-mates. Was there one person for each person or were there many good choices? While I think I could have married someone else and been happy in my ignorance, I know I found my soul-mate. After being married for 22 years next month which equals out to exactly 8004 days, I don’t think I would have the energy or motivation to start at day 1 again. We just work. He gets me and I get him. Losing him would break my heart into a thousand pieces, never to be fully repaired.
Then there are my precious peeps. Gone are the fears of high fevers and rashes. Replaced with wondering where they are when they are past curfew – or when they doesn’t answer their texts. I worry about the choices they make. I worry about their futures and their spouses. I worry about the things they tell me and the things they don’t tell me.
I just love them so deeply – so completely – I just want the very best for them. As my tight fist is slowly being pried open so my peeps can breathe, I’m scared. Terrified, really. But, maybe I shouldn’t be. In the end I don’t think I wouldn’t want to turn the mold over and have them come out conformed exactly as I envisioned. As they break my mold and form their own, I am often humbled, surprised and amazed how it is turning out. It’s not like I thought or planned, but far more beautiful. I just need to keep taking deep breaths, push my fears aside and open my fist wider.