I have been away for a few days with my middle child. I say ‘child’ but she is a young woman of 22! We went in my hippy camper van and had a wonderful time. We walked in the forests, swam in the hot pools, practiced juggling, cooked wonderful food and sat around in deck chairs and read good books. We even saw some amazing sunsets, as shown in the photo above.
But I had gone off on a whim. I had made no plans. I had not written a blog post. If I had been organized I would had written a post before I went, and got Peter to post it for me whilst I was gone. Or I could have written a post about going away, and so people would not expect a new post from me for a few days.
The irony of me walking with my daughter in the beautiful Hanmer forest worrying about a post on a blog dedicated to taking the time to do the things you want to do, and doing them whole heartedly, is not lost on me. And I am sure you will be pleased to know we had a good laugh about it and then I pushed away thoughts of the blog and went back to enjoying time with my daughter.
And yet, just why was I worrying about the blog in the first place? Yes, I have a few followers, some of whom are not even my immediate family and friends! And yes, in order to deserve the title of ‘blog’ one must actually do some blogging and post the result. But I had not gone for six months. I cannot, for one moment, kid myself my readers are hanging on my every word. There is not anybody out there for whom it really matters whether I blog or not. People might enjoy my blog, but it is not necessary. There are other blogs to read, other things to do. So why, oh why, did I jepodise my precious time with my daughter worrying about not having written a blog post?
I thought about this on the journey home and could come to no other answer than we make our own personal hells. OK, maybe ‘hell’ is a little strong a word here, but the concept remains the same. I created a spark of discomfort and proceeded to indulge it until it grew into an inferno of worry.
I could have simply shrugged when I realized I had not blogged before I left home, and smiled at the lovely new things I would have to write about when I got back. But I chose to feed the worry until it began to matter. Until my daughter asked what I was worrying about.
How many other worries are of our own making. How many things should we simply make a note to do later, and then forget about while we concentrate on whatever we are currently doing? Now I am not daft. If I had left the gas on at home I would need to ring a neighbor immediately. But these are not the type of things I am talking about. I am talking about things that can easily be left until we get back home or until our son has finished telling us about his camp, or whatever.
So my new resolution is to not feed the worry troll. Not to sweat the small stuff in fact. And to enjoy precious time with my family.