It’s been almost a year since my daughter moved from a far away place to one even farther away. Almost a year since my uncle died, at age of 60, from alcohol, and almost a year since his first grandbaby was born. He never got to see her.
Now, my daughter is almost 30. She’s a sobriety baby and she’s never been endangered by my drinking. She had some rough patches growing up, and I’ve been worried about her probably more than I’ve worried about anything else in my entire life. But she’s doing really well. And she’s bought a ticket, a plane ticket, to go to Greece, because she wants to. She’s going by herself, and she doesn’t speak Greek or know anyone there. She will go for one week. That’s all she can get off from her job. To say I am worried would be a supreme understatement. But, especially because I have such a long time to get used to this idea, I intend to really, truly do some definitive work on my character defect, worry, which as I understand it is a form of fear.
I mindfully worked on this and I did pretty well when I agreed to fly to Hawaii and back several years ago. I’m afraid to fly. This is a different kind of fear and while yes, it’s a “normal” kind of fear, I believe that I can and should continue to lessen my character defects, no matter how far away I am from a drink, and no matter how called for the defect may be. I mean, any sane mother would be very worried in my place. I make no claims on how I would react if something really bad actually did happen to her, but while it’s all hypothetical, I plan to attack this anxiety, this fear, and end up as serene as it’s within my power to be. And once it all goes well I might even be able to admire a young woman who would do such a thing just because she wanted to, and think that her mother must have done something right.