A lot can change between planning something and actually doing it. But maybe all that really matters is that anything is different at all.

Because you have to just go with the flow. Your life is not your own, with people coming in and out all the time. You get mellow because you have to.

Now, now," my father said. "Let's just get the bags." This was typical. My father, the lone male in our estrogen-heavy household, had always dealt with any kind of emotional situation or conflict by doing something concrete and specific. Discussion of cramps and heavy flow at the breakfast table? He was up and out the door to change oil on one of our cars. Coming home in tears for reasons you just didn't want to discuss? He'd go make you a grilled cheese, which he'd probably end up eating. Family crisis brewing in a public place? Bags. Get the bags.

I'd chosen instead to just change my route, go miles out of the way, as if avoiding it would make it go away once and for all.

Some things don't last forever, but some things do.

Okay," I said, "what's your biggest fear?" As always, he took a second to think about the answer. "Clowns," he said. "Clowns." "Yup." I just looked at him. "What?" he said, glancing over at me. "That is not a real answer," I told him. "Says who?" "Says me. I meant a real fear, like of failure, of death, of regret. Like that. Something that keeps you awake nights, questioning your very existence." He thought for a second. "Clowns.

If you expect the worst, you'll never be disappointed.