I am worried, yet I believe in your abilities and your passion. If anyone can do this, it's you. So you have to go. You have to try. Whatever happens, I am proud of you. I am proud of who you became.
Worry is fear. So we ask ourselves, what is the basis of that fear? Is it foolish or well founded? What are the consequences of doing or not doing the action? Do we have a greater duty to the self and others to do the action or refrain? For in this ability to question is the roots of wisdom and freedom from such fears.
Love can manifest as worry, and I worry about you. Yet love is wanting others to live their best life, to achieve what they were born to do, to rise up into their passions and feel the exhilaration that brings. For after, there is real self respect, and a satisfaction of living up to full potential, of being a true hero, of making a positive impact upon the world. So, yeah, I worry. But go. Go fly. Dream big.
That you worry tells me that you love, be proud of that. I love you too. I'm glad you realise that I can't stay hidden in this cocoon you built. I agree that it is time to emerge. Now or never, right? I'll never be more ready and there are things I can only learn by getting out there. Our bond, our love, it will endure, of that I have full comfort.
With worry there must be balance. Is it keeping you safe or too safe? There must be safety enough to live well and thrive. There must be not so much safety that necessary risks cannot happen. Trust in yourself in these matters, yet take good counsel from those whom love you. Always balance.
I see your worry. I can relate. I can see the stage now. I can sense the lights becoming brighter. I need to do this, and I am sure you can relate to that.
These next few hours would either pass as a blip in the course of her life, or they would be the final trauma that broke her. Rose held her hand to Lydia's burning forehead, her body had to conquer the fever soon or she would perish. Rose paced the floor, busying herself bringing fresh clothes from the icy water bucket outside, never stopping for even a moment. At times the memory of finding Lydia in the wheat field would surface and she would swallow hard, willing her eyes to remain dry and her mind focused. The other children were watching and it was for her to show strength, embody the way forward, keep her own fears and grief away from their tender hearts.
As the daylight dwindled the tension in Skye grew. Simon should have been back by now, he promised. She filled the kettle to make coffee she had no intention of drinking and her eyes kept darting to the telephone that refused to ring. She turned the radio on and sat, only to turn it off just a minute later. When the kettle finally boiled and clicked off she was standing an inch from the front door, staring at it as if she could will Simon to open it, visualizing her smile of relief and the scold in her tone as she told him how worried she'd been.