When Fear Writes the Story First

I slipped into the driver’s seat of my brand-new car and immediately noticed a note tucked beneath the passenger-side windscreen wiper.

Never a promising start.

There is something about handwritten notes left on cars that instantly raises your blood pressure before you have even read a single word.

I unfolded it carefully.

“A ute has crashed into your car.”

Lovely.

Only an hour earlier, I had been sitting happily at the hairdresser’s, and by ten o’clock that night, Chris and I were flying to Perth for one of those long-awaited family reunions that mothers and grandmothers count down toward emotionally for weeks beforehand.

I was about to see my son and my grandsons. My mind was already at the airport. This was not the kind of pre-holiday excitement I had planned.

Thankfully, a kind woman named Marnie had left her phone number in case I needed a witness for insurance purposes, which at that moment sounded highly likely.

With growing apprehension, I slowly walked around the car inspecting every panel with the concentration of a crime scene investigator.

Left side. Nothing.

Right side. Nothing.

Front.
Back.

Surely something had happened.

I actually began doubting my own eyesight. Perhaps the damage was so catastrophic that I could no longer recognise a normal vehicle structure.

So I rang Marnie.

“Oh yes,” she assured me. “It was definitely a ute — company vehicle. Protoype written on the side. We heard the loudest bang.”

Apparently, she and her husband had been driving home after lunch when they watched the ute backing into the space directly in front of me. Then came an enormous crash, and the driver pulled away and disappeared.

At this point, naturally, my imagination had already begun writing an entire disaster movie.

Insurance claims.
Repair delays.
Airport stress.
Holiday ruined.
Potential emotional collapse in the shopping centre car park.

Never mind the fact that I still could not actually find any damage.

But here is the strange thing.

There was no damage.

None.

Not even a scratch.

And slowly another explanation began forming.

Beside the department store sat a loading area where giant industrial bins were constantly being dragged around by forklifts and workers who appeared to possess little concern for peaceful sound levels.

Perhaps the dramatic “crash” everyone heard had nothing whatsoever to do with my car. Perhaps it was simply the soundtrack of aggressive bin management occurring at precisely the wrong moment.

In the end, my completely unharmed car and I drove home together quite peacefully. Although, for the record, I can confidently say I will never park in that spot again.

Because once the mind attaches fear to a place, logic becomes surprisingly irrelevant.

And honestly, the whole ridiculous episode reminded me how quickly we human beings begin suffering over futures that do not even exist yet.

Not long before this, Chris had been struggling with a sore hip and strained back for over a week. After much encouragement, and by encouragement I mean persistent wife-level insistence, he finally agreed to see the doctor.

An X-ray was ordered, and the doctor arranged a chiropractic appointment.

Then came the dreaded phrase:
“Perhaps surgery.”

Well. That was enough.

My imagination immediately sprinted ahead like an Olympic athlete.

Hip replacements.
Months of recovery.
Cancelled bowls championships.
Orthopaedic cushions.
The tragic decline of a once highly competitive lawn bowler.

Chris plays bowls four times a week and travels regularly for championships, which he absolutely loves. Naturally, within minutes, I had emotionally redesigned our future around mobility issues and sensible footwear.

Then the chiropractor casually asked:
“Did the doctor actually give you the results of the X-ray?”

As it turned out, there was nothing dramatic at all.

No major deterioration.
No looming surgery.

Just mild wear and tear and a repetitive sports strain caused by lawn bowls.

Yes.
Apparently, even lawn bowls requires warming up beforehand.

Who knew?

A few stretches, massage, and proper warm-up exercises later, the imagined hip replacement vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

And standing there listening to the chiropractor speak, I suddenly recognised something uncomfortable about myself.

How often do we start emotionally living inside situations that have not actually happened?

How many peaceful moments do we lose worrying about futures our minds invented entirely on their own?

At this stage of life, I am still learning that fear by suggestion can be strangely powerful.

A note on a windscreen.
One sentence from a doctor.
A passing comment.
A misunderstood situation.

And suddenly the mind rushes ahead, filling empty spaces with catastrophe.

Perhaps ageing teaches you this more clearly.

Life becomes far more peaceful once you stop letting your imagination write entire stories before the facts have even arrived.

Chris and I often say now that we want to spend the remaining years of our lives, however many we are given, with peace, enjoyment, gratitude, and an active spirit.

And perhaps protecting that peace sometimes means gently reminding ourselves:

Not every frightening thought is true. Not every fear becomes reality.

And not every loud crash in life turns out to be our car after all.

Even so…

I still eye that car park with deep suspicion every time I drive past …

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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Photo credit: Nicholas Ng On Unsplash