Fear and Loathing in your 30's...

I've posted on growing up and maturing in the past... here and here... Beyond the folded fitted sheets, rapidly greying hair and anal retentive cleaning procedure, I've recently noticed another shift... this time, in my reactions and my behavior.  Not only have I come to fear things I've never contemplated as dangerous before... I've also become a real stickler for rules.

It's what I call the 'fear factor' - things that I'd do without a second thought only 5 years ago... I now approach with trepidation.  Here are a few examples:

The ocean... I used to swim out way past where my feet could touch the ground... I had no fear of sharks or getting sucked out.  These days, I kind of stick to around thigh height and don't venture out too much further - I'm going to try to rectify this in the next few weeks.  I really find I'm missing the freedom of being totally immersed in the water - rising and falling with the waves, rather than just standing there letting them belt into me.

Carparks - I will never go against the arrow.  If the arrow points to the left and from there winds around and around the carpark to the exit, I will alway go that way... rather than against the arrow and the 15 metres straight out.  Drives Micko nuts!

Crossing the road at the lights or the pedestrian crossing...  I will walk a few hundred metres out of my way to ensure I cross the road at the designated spot.  But hey, I'm in good company... even The Beatles stuck to the chosen path!

Clean underwear - I sniff my undies each morning, just to make sure I'm putting on a clean pair and a dirty one hasn't mistakenly found it's way into my draw.  When I do come across a sneaky pair, at least I don't have to pluck my nose hair for a few weeks (the scent burns them right out of their little nostril hair sockets).

I'm not sure if it's age.. or if I'm slowly turning into my mother  - a chronic worrier.  My Mum and I recently made a pact that if I was going anywhere or doing anything in which I might be harmed, not to tell her until I've done it... just to stop unnecessary worry.  As a baby, she hardly slept at all (even though I was quite a solid sleeper) because she'd be in every 15 minutes to check if I breathing.  As a kid she worried about broken bones... As a teen, it was broken hearts... and as a young adult - broken dreams - and the ability to have saved enough to pay my bills.

Often, these days, when I speak I hear my mothers voice... her laugh... and sometimes a little of her concern.  Micko has started calling me 'Rhonda Number 2'.  At this point I'm not as consumed by worry as she is... perhaps it's only a matter of time?  Unlike Mum, I'm not fearful of broken bones, broken hearts and broken dreams as those things are, in some respects, out of my control.

I instead fear the little things... being swept out to sea - even though I'm a strong swimmer... an old woman, winding down her window and yelling at me because I didn't follow the arrows...  someone spitting in my food if I send it back... accidently putting on a crusty pair of grundies...  these are the real things to be fearful of.  The things that keep me awake at night and send a chill down my spine.

Will this irrational fear continue to grow and grow until it's out of control like Lantana in the bush?  How will I react when I discover I've not a clean pair of undies left in the house?  Will I end up sitting in a camp chair, in the garage, roller door open, looking aimlessly at the street while I talk to myself about road rules?  What does the future hold for me and my increasing nerves?

and finally...

What keeps you awake at night?