Here’s a thing you may not know about me if you’ve never met me before, or read anything I’ve written, or indeed heard of me in passing.
I’m a big ball of stress.
It’s not an attractive quality, and I own that. I worry, I fret, I take every negative thing inward and wrap myself around it, obsessing over how I can make it better, or how I could have prevented it in the first place. A lot of my energy goes toward prevention; looking at every possible situation, all the ways in which it can go wrong, and how I can prevent it. When I was 11, I was worried about my father’s health. Looking back, I’m not sure why, but I remember making him buy tunafish, thinking that would save him. He died suddenly of a heart attack three weeks after my 12th birthday. Somehow, instead of sending home the healthy and realistic message that I do not, in fact, control the universe, it made me more determined than ever to see the bad things coming and head them off at the pass.
Kind of like Gandalf.