Nebulous Mooch

I can’t say that I was ever really fearless. Throughout my life, worry and anxiety have beset me. I was a worried child and continue to worry as an adult. As a child, I worried less about physical danger though. That feeling you get in your stomach when you fall was fun not nauseating.

My sister and I made bike ramps with pieces of plywood, stacks of concrete blocks and trash cans. I don’t really remember what roles the trash cans played, but I do remember them being present. I happily rode my banana seat bike up the incline and dropped like a rock off the edge. I never did a successful jump or exciting trick. If I had the right kind of bike, maybe I could’ve. No matter how many times I fell off that bike, the idea that I might get hurt never entered my mind. When I did get hurt, it was shocking. I never thought it would happen to me.

Now I worry about getting hurt all the time. My sister bought a house with a large trampoline in the backyard. When I try to jump on it, I worry about getting hurt. “I better not fall off this thing and break something,” I think. My husband took this picture of me jumping on it. That is not the look of fun it is sheer terror.

I was happy to get off the trampoline. My husband had made it look like it was so easy and fun when he was on it. When he announced that he was going to try to do a back flip I had to go inside. I couldn’t watch that disaster unfold. I don’t just worry about myself.

I’m going to try to get used to the trampoline. Maybe I can recapture my youth. Maybe I can fall off it and break my arm. Maybe I’ll just get a little more exercise.