My father held fear in his back pocket. I couldn't mow the lawn because I might cut off a foot. I couldn't climb a ladder because I might fall off. Everything in my life was a potential life threatening affair. As an adult, my anxiety is tempered somewhat, but at times I can still hear my father's voice in my head audio flashing, "Unsafe. Warning. Stay away. You'll get hurt or blow up. Warning. Warning."
Tonight I had planned a dish that required sauteing and then baking. After chopping an onion, I turned the knob to engage the flame under the cast iron pan and nothing happened. I tried another. Nothing. I thought I detected gas with those few attempts, so I stopped. If Jerry were here he would confidently get a match and light it manually. If that didn't work, he would check the level of propane. Hearing warnings chattering in my head, I did neither; instead I plugged in the instant pot and began sauteing the onions. In less than 20 minutes I was eating. Sometimes, it just isn't worth it to stress.