Jami the Paranoiac

I'm certain that I've mentioned in previous posts that I am a bit overly paranoid. Nothing in my life, childhood or upbringing stands out as an event that would cause this, it just seems to have developed slowly over my life. I would guess that my love of reading true crime and marrying a man who studied criminal justice probably contributed, however. A prime example happened a few days ago, when I found a package on the front porch. I picked it up, turned around and was walking through the door when I noticed that the box had a handwritten label, and came from a name/address I didn't recognize. Instantly I turned around and began taking the package back outside. Not because I didn't think it was for me, but because that's a big hallmark of mail bombs. Then I saw the second name on the address label and recognized that name, and went back in. The package contained a definitely non-explosive baby blanket. The thing is, I am not really a prime target for letter bombs. I know that I learned the signs of packages that might blow up when working at a radio station (which never had had a mail bomb, but media outlets are more likely to receive such things), but I'd have to guess most postal bombers aren't going to go after a stay-at-home mom who is currently involved in such major controversies as "Should the Sunday School kids be allowed to perform a Christmas rap at the annual dinner theater night?" I'm not a lightning rod for assassination attempts. But I still look out for them. I always remember the first time I heard someone say "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you" and the line from the Princess Bride: "I always assume everything is a trap; it's why I'm still alive". I know from reading my true crime books that a fair number of crimes could have been avoided by a little more paranoia on the victim's part. Or at least a good healthy skepticism. And we can't know what bad things my paranoid reactions may have prevented, either. That time I got off the elevator because I felt hinky about the guy who got on after me - maybe I avoided being a crime victim that night, maybe not - we'll never know. One of my biggest challenges as a parent is teaching my children a healthy paranoia. I want them to be aware, but not nuts. Wary, but not terrified. I could easily turn my kids into raging agoraphobics who refuse to leave my side, but while that might make me feel better, it does them a grave disservice. Insane as it makes me sound, I'm trying to raise them to be fearless. I'm not afraid of snakes, spiders, the dark, heights, public speaking or most of the things on the list of "normal" fears and I want them to have that same boldness. But I also want them to be wise, skeptical of strangers and stories that don't make sense, careful about situations that could spiral out of control. It's a fine line, I know, and I doubt anyone walks it perfectly. So we'll have to wait and see how well I do.