Ap·pre·hen·sion (n): 1. anxiety or fear that something bad or unpleasant will happen.
A pall in the room.
This is what I created the other night when I casually mentioned that I was diabetic.
Some faces reflected horror; others, pity. But the general disposition of those gathered was that they would have to sit back and listen to a litany of my sad tale or a description of my medications and treatment.
I surprised them because I just don’t do that.
But rather than appreciating the fact that I did not bore them with the elements of my constitution, they looked on me with a bit of dismay. I think they found be blithe.
Yes, if any word has been thrown my way as an insult, it would be blithe and all of its friendly synonyms.
- “Not careful enough.”
- “Overly optimistic.”
- Or even occasionally, “Ignorant.”
But I do not find blithe to be the absence of awareness, but rather, the negating of apprehension.
Case in point: when my doctor told me I had diabetes, I deadpanned in his direction: “Well, now I know what’s gonna kill me.”
He paused, looking into my eyes to see if I was serious, and when I twinkled his way, he laughed. He also spent the next two hours explaining the rigors of my situation and the care I needed to give myself.
I don’t mind giving myself attention–as long as it’s half of what I give to others.
Apprehension has never made my journey sweeter or improved my situation. Matter of fact, it tends to do the opposite.
So if I were to be accused of anything, and I certainly will be, “blithe” would be my preference.
Because the power of living a life which “takes no thought” for certain matters is the realization that my thinking does not always produce positive energy and often fails to even release the serotonin that could make my thinking better.
Do I have apprehensions? Yes.
But I would consider them to be pesky mice in my house … instead of pet hamsters in cages.
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