Good morning from sunny, chilly Vermont. As early as I can remember, when something bothered me, my dad would say, “In a hundred years from now, no one will ever know the difference.” This answer would drive me crazy. I thought he was refusing to hear me. I thought he was dismissing my valid concerns. Now that I’m of “a certain age,” his comment has begun to make sense. In fact, I often conjure it up as a response to the situations in which I find myself as I go through my day.
Will I have time to blog this week? In a hundred years from now, no one will ever know the difference. Did I remember to pay the phone bill? In a hundred years from now, no one will ever know the difference. You get the idea–it’s the Rene Marcoux rendition of the Serenity Prayer. So many of the things I fret about aren’t really worth using up the time that’s been assigned to me in this world. So why not let go?
Well, I’ll tell you why. I’m genetically hard-wired to fuss. If I’m oceanside with my feet on the ground, the wires soften and shrivel up; it’s magic. If I’m at Lake Elmore sitting on my raggedy picnic quilt hanging out with my husband and the Barretts, the wires soften and my labored inner breathing eases. If I’m at Soft Landing sitting out on our bench with my face to the sun, the wires at least relax. If I’m in a rocking chair with the soft, sure weight of a sleeping baby or young child (or a little white dog), the wires actually sag.
Epigenetics. The tangle of genes and environment. Give me the right setting, and my high-strung genes relax. So to stay healthy and sane and capable, I keep tabs on where I put myself. Every one of my books includes a peaceful setting, with the ocean playing a role in each storyline. (Quill Point is no exception.) Growing up on a farm gave me autonomic every day grounding. Soft Landing provides some of that. The rest of what I need I create or travel for.
Today the sun is out so I’ll sit on the bench and take a walk with a friend. I’ll go to church and be still. Having no babies to hold, the dog’s on my lap. And if I start fretting about tomorrow, my dad’s voice will be there, saying: “Lisa–in a hundred years from now, no one will ever know the difference.”
What’s your take on epigenetics? Check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.