Why I can't enjoy things when everything is fine
The day was good, the house is quiet, and you're still watching for whatever is about to go wrong.
Nothing is wrong, and that's what tightens your stomach a little. You tell yourself "it's too quiet." At some point you laugh for real, and a small voice adds: "enjoy it, it won't last." Honestly, I hurt for you a bit over that voice. It shows up exactly when the moment was yours.
For a lot of people it's an old reflex: once, something fell apart right after a good moment. Since then the shoulders stay ready, so they're never caught off guard again. It spares you a shock, but it takes the moment itself: you pay for the fall in advance, and the quiet evening, you never quite had it.
You pay for the fall in advance, and the quiet evening never really happened.
I was wondering…
What good thing are you keeping at a distance, in case you got used to having it?