I believe there are different types of anxiety. If we are talking about psychological anxiety like PTSD my biggest triggers are having a motorcycle fly by me on the highway. If we are talking about “normal” anxiety my triggers are being repeatedly question about my capabilities. For example, if you asked me “Can you use a screw gun to put up a wooden fence?” and I say yes but then you ask “A screw gun, commercial grade?” Yes. “Do you know how to safely put enough pressure and then let it off so you don’t strip the screw?” YES!!! I said yes at the beginning. That is an umbrella yes! If I didn’t know any part of it I would have said no.
This morning on our walk I saw a similar flower, all by itself, mixed in with dead grass and sandy soil. I almost stopped to take a picture because it looks so pretty but so lonely. I almost wish I had now, seeing your photo!
Things were different back in the day when the world seemed so safe. As kids, we would leave the house in the morning and return only if we forgot some treasure or new tool to use as we built an imaginary world around us.
“Hey, wait for me”, I remember my best friend saying as she pedaled harder and harder to catch up. We were on our way to the underpass.
The underpass was I95 which cut through the shoreline and went all the way from Maine to Florida, or so we were told. We would search the sand on either side of the road that traveled under the underpass to look for bird eggs that were maybe jostled out of their nests by the rumbling vibration of the cars and trucks. Once in a while, we would find a blue robins egg, cracked in half like mom’s Sunday morning breakfast eggs, but never a baby bird to rescue.
“Let’s ride up to the store and buy gum!” my friend said. There was a small store about a mile away.
We would cross the busy street, Route 1, which also supposedly runs from Maine to Florida. Then we would pedal over the East River and cross the town line to finally get to the shop close enough to buy big packs of Grape Hubba Bubba. Chewing happily we would ride toward home, wondering what we should do next. We never told our moms we rode so far. It was dangerous crossing a main road, never a worry about anyone kidnapping us or luring us in some obscene way. As long as we were home for dinner we were free to explore the world around us, and that we did!