How I stayed calm when my emails vanished and my laptop died

Two things happened recently that would have freaked me out before:

First, my website was moved to a new server and … All my emails—gone.

Client emails. Invoices and important documents. Emails I might need in the future. All gone.

Not gonna lie, I had a mini freak-out moment.

BUT it lasted about 2 minutes tops.

And then I thought:

Ah well. I’ll either get them back or I won’t.

It’ll be fine either way.

I emailed my assistant and forgot about the whole thing.

Two days later, my emails were back.

Great, and I would’ve been fine without them.

A couple of days later I was watching a movie on my laptop when, out of nowhere, the movie halted, and the screen turned black.

This was not good…

But I didn’t worry. I didn’t even have a mini freak out like I had a couple of weeks before.

I finished watching the movie on my phone because I wanted to know how it ended.

And I knew the laptop issue would be sorted one way or another somehow—but not on a Saturday evening.

This is NOT how I would have reacted a while back.

I used to be super anxious when it came to my laptop. After all, I have an online business, so my work AND my income depend on it.

Every time there seemed to be even the slightest issue with my laptop, I panicked. BIG time.

It triggered fears about missing out on opportunities, clients, and income. Plus, the idea of having to replace or repair my laptop made my scalp break out in sweat. 

Nothing got triggered this time.

I trusted all was well, even though I wasn’t sure how yet.

And of course, it all worked out smoothly. (Long story short: repairing the laptop would be more expensive than buying a new one, so I did that. I restored the backup that’s automatically made daily, and on Tuesday night, my new laptop was up and running.)

So how come I didn’t panic this time?

It’s because I didn’t jump on the mental thought train going straight to disaster.  

I used to jump right in and wrestle with all these fatalistic scenarios. I tried to take over the helm of the train and change its direction. It was a lot of work, caused a lot of stress, and the train kept speeding no matter what I did.

Now, I stood on the platform and watched the train arrive. It stopped. The doors opened. But I didn’t hop on. I watched the doors close and the train leave. I turned around and left the station. 

The laptop still broke. The mental train still arrived, but I let it go by.

You can do that, too.

You don’t have to hop on just because it stops for you. 

The train leaves either way. 

Love,

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