Apparently, some of the worst things that could happen to a person is either being buried alive, finding out that your person has been unfaithful to you, or you are dying alone, only to discover that you are going to hell. Others fear being imprisoned (I cannot imagine this one, unless of course you have reason to see this as a possibility) or losing a pet- now that is a real fear. There could also be more trivial matters to fear such as dying a virgin or discovering that nobody likes you.

According to Mark Twain, some of the worst things in life never even happened. You spend all that time and wasteful emotion, worrying over things that may or may not happen.

All the above would compare favourably with writing a blog. You see, the problem with writing a blog is this: You just never know how and where it is going to land. I recall the first few blogs of mine that saw the world. I was so concerned. What would people think? Would they think me neurotic? What if I am being neurotic? What if those that know me thought me silly? What if I am being too honest and wearing my heart on my sleeve. There were so many what-ifs that at times I lost sight of all the wonderful possibilities. All the opportunities that I not only have to share my best (and some worst) moments with my village, but also the opportunity to record my thoughts to share with my one-day descendants. I would have loved a glimpse into my Granny’s life, and just maybe this will be that window for my grandchildren one day.

Anyway, back to my blog. Here I am every Wednesday, ever so faithfully writing. Once I am done, it gets handed to Colin and he selects a suitable photo to go with the contents. It truly is a labour of love just in case you were wondering. And then, Thursday comes, and I publish, and I wonder. Do people even read it? Am I just wasting time, fooling myself? And then I have a week like this past week. I bump into people, and they comment. I really enjoyed what you wrote about a month ago, it so resonated with what was happening with me at the time, she said. Or there is the one person who will nudge me (on the odd occasion that Colin hits the send button a little too late.) I am halfway through my coffee, waiting for my morning read. Are you going to publish this week? Or, I was in the doctor’s room, and I saw this object, and it reminded me of your blog. And then yesterday: a person who expressed interest in reading my blog, but I never knew if she actually did. I saw her yesterday. Oh, she says. I start every Friday morning with your blog! What I can tell you is this. Clearly, I am doing as Mark Twain said, and I spend an awful amount of time worrying about something that only exists in my mind.

Next to writing, I enjoy talking to people most. I can strike up a conversation with just about anybody. I love these moments in time. It is always an opportunity to either get a story out there or gain a story to pass on. In the past two weeks, I had many a coffee date with old and new friends. (Yes, I even had an afternoon snooze, you may recall, with one of these new friends.) Midway through last week, I was contacted by a person whom I met a while ago. Oh, wow, I thought. How nice of her to reach out. Yes, of course I can meet up. I left for my meeting with her, feeling quite excited about the pending conversation. Oh, dear. Do you know when you sit there, and you gradually realise that just perhaps this was not such a clever idea, and you either need to sit it out, or find an excuse to escape as soon as you can? And you watch the minutes drag past in slow motion, and you are trapped. You know that moment when you fix your eyes on that person’s nose (it is neutral space, somewhere between the eyes and the mouth), all the time nodding to her never-ending monologue, whilst you have a conversation with God in your mind? Oh, dear God. How did this happen? Why did I not see it coming? As much as I do not believe that God is vengeful, I cannot help but to ask Him what I had done to deserve this? But you see, even in that dreadful moment there was a positive aspect, I just had to spot it.

On the morning in question, I did wake up feeling a bit anxious. Because I am older and wiser, I can identify anxiety when it bubbles in my throat. And setting out that morning, there it was, a tiny bubble, building. Anyway. I survived the appointment, managed an escape as soon as I could, made my way to my car, politely agreeing to what a lovely time we had, and how we should do it again soon. I could just feel my nose grow longer with every nod of my head, and every smile on my lips. It was only as I shut the car door and when I found myself in a safe space that I realized that despite all my misgivings, the coffee date had served a purpose. Yes, it did. There was a silver lining after all. I stopped to double check, and yes, that bubble of anxiety had dissipated. You see, all that time, I sat there asking God: Why? my anxiety had done what I was hoping to do. It decided: No way. There is no way I am going to sit here and watch an hour of my life drain away, an hour I will never get back! And so, Anxiety picked up her Gucci handbag and left. What a wise lass she was. Unlike me.

This reminds me of a good friend’s WhatsApp status. It reads: We worry about tomorrow like its promised.

How true. But can I add to it? We worry about tomorrow and all that could happen, when we could be in the moment, and simply relish being in the moment. Now, that is the problem with writing a blog. It will always lead you to the next topic…