Letting go and Grabbing On.

Fear has been part of my DNA as long as can remember.  I think this is because my parents loved me so much and had trouble conceiving me.  Once I arrived to parents with a low sperm count and a tilted uterus that required my mother to spend the last four months of my conception in bed, they did everything to ensure I would be SAFE in life.  This included being sure to not climb high places, swim in water over my head, talk to strangers, ride a bike without training wheels until I was 10 and generally grow up afraid of everything!  Of course I did try my hand at a few stunts that I saw other brave souls doing, but invariably I paid the price of skinned up  and band-aided knees  which seemed to reinforce the message that life was dangerous for Me.

Let’s Get Dirty

    I realize that in my zeal to be prepared for every disease/disaster known to man, I have become a germaphobe. I have been accused (rightly so) of carrying everything but the proverbial kitchen sink in my purse just in case. You never know when you might need a band-aid, tweezers, a wet-wipe, floss, toothpaste, a sewing kit, and so on.  I have always been the one to have wet wipes to clean my hands after pumping gas to get the gas smell off my hands and of course who knows what else????

The path from my front door to the kitchen sink is well worn because it has been  non stop; as that is the first thing I do when I get home is to WASH MY HANDS!!!  I realize that a certain amount of hygiene is necessary and I admit it freaks me out like Seinfeld if I see waitstaff  come out   of a stall and  not wash their hands in the ladies room!  But I am calling a truce on myself.