No worries so simple.
We grow attached to things that are close to us. Not close like a pair of undies, not that kind of snuggly close. More the being together of a warm wooly jumper on a bleak winter day, the something or someone who shared the wins and the losses and kept you smiling when it was all up hill. Through the sun shine and storms, time takes its toll, the shine and sparkle diminishes but the fondness grows for the tried and true the familiar and reliable.
I am pleased with the fad that made faded, frayed and tattered jeans and other garments fashionable. Stressed furniture with artificial crackling and peeling paint showing the under layers became the in-thing. Now I can take pride in my old weathered and worn comfortable things that I find appealing, without feeling inferior to the upwardly mobile fashion conscious crowd. Not that it worries me what people think now that I have my ego subdued and under control.
At twenty I worried about these things, at forty I lost interest in what they thought, at sixty I realized no one was even noticing me, at eighty I am pleased if people smile at the way I dress so I wear what is functional and comfortable.
Our friends will excuse our idiosyncrasies and we should not grieve over unjust criticism. Most of the things I worried about never happened. So is worrying a way to prevent misfortune happening? I stopped worrying a long time ago and the answer is worrying does not help in any way.
I genuinely like things that Mother Nature has aged, mellowed and softened. Perhaps it is because it reminds us that all things are impermanent and wanting this to be otherwise can only bring sorrow.
The child builds castles of sand the tide comes in, the child cries, that is one of the first lessons nothing lasts. Childhood passes also, have we learned we cannot cling to impermanent things. The flower blooms, fades and dies, the brilliant sunset fades into the dark night.
Nature’s lessons teach us not to cling and hoard but to freely share. The truth may well be, though I am well past my use by date, I still feel useful and am pleased I have not been discarded as worthless. I live in the now, sharing the good before it passes into infinity.
There needs to be balance as one can get too fond of old things. I worked with a bloke; he was built like a brick chicken coop, but gentle as washing up liquid. One day to attract his attention I pulled on his shirt and a button popped off under the strain. The passive, massive man turned on me like a wounded buffalo, eyes flashing like hazard lights on a road train. He took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor shouting “You have wrecked my shirt!” “Sorry mate, I did not mean to, it’s an old shirt.” I should not have said it was old. “I’ve had that shirt since I was an apprentice, I only wear it on special occasions now.” He raved on about the places he wore that shirt, wakes and weddings, sporting events and music festivals. It took a lot of diplomatic bull dung to calm him down. Actually I did not say a word. I let him call me names that indicated I was far from dexterous and my mother let her heart rule her head. I used this opportunity to practice my exercise on staying calm under pressure. The fire burned down the pot went off the boil, he turned and left.
Next day I saw him and gave him back his shirt washed, ironed and with a new golden button in place of the lost one. I explained how sorry I was and returned his repaired shirt. He smiled and said he regretted losing his temper over an old shirt. “No worries the new button can remind you nothing lasts forever.” I said. He put out his hand in a gesture of friendship. I shook his hand and the rest of me stopped shaking. I felt so relieved and happy, over the moon as they say. I felt like laughing, so jokingly said “You were lucky I did not lose my temper too or you would have been in trouble.” “Yes, I would have been up on a man slaughter charge.” He replied. We both cracked up laughing. It is so simple just do the right thing and you have no worries.