I am not a worrier by nature, but the niggling voices pace back and forth, wearing a hole in the carpet of my mind. I know worrying over things I cannot control is foolish and futile. There's nothing I can do about weather, the traffic, or what other people do, except find a way to live with them. I've tried sweeping worry under the carpet, turning on the music, and going out for a walk, but it never really goes. It clings like a stray eyelash that you think you've removed, but is suddenly there again, making your eyes water. Perhaps age is the enemy, forcing me to face the fact that time is limited. The end comes to all of us; that's another of the things we cannot control, but the nurturers among us want to make the world a perfect place, especially for those we love. Their pain and worry becomes ours, and though we know there is no such thing as perfection, and that we have little or no power over life's challenges, we still worry. We worry over our failures, what we could have done differently, and did we do enough? We hope they know we tried our best.
~Elise Skidmore ©2023