My neighbor across the alley, a military vet, apparently still has a thing for adrenaline-pumping experiences and has decided to share that with his grandkids in the form of alley racing. He loads one of three grandkids on his four-wheeler and races up and down the alleys at 30-35 miles an hour, honking the horn the entire way as if that warning sign makes the activity safe.

The grandkids of course love it. And the granddad seems quite pleased with the exhilaration of the speed and encouragement of the kids, with his cap turned backwards, his slick sunglasses on and his white knuckles gripping the handles.

All these awful scenarios run through my mind of what could happen– the four-wheeler running over a cat or dog because they can’t stop soon enough, a car backing out of a garage and the four-wheeler slamming into it, an elderly person who’s hard of hearing stepping into the four-wheeler’s path and getting hit.

The concerns loomed large the day I witnessed it and really upset me. It’s so interesting how those thoughts can occupy such a large part of your mind. You don’t even realize how big it’s become until you speak it out loud.

Such was the case when I shared it with a guy I went on a second date with that same afternoon. It’s incredible what a burden it lifted when I spoke it out loud. His response didn’t even matter. I just needed it to be heard and somehow the magnitude of the concern was returned to its proper size.

Yes, it’s not safe and hopefully I’ll have an opportunity to express my concerns to my neighbor but it doesn’t have to be all-consuming and ruin my day. Silent concerns are a killer because they so quickly become unbalanced. It’s so easy to forget that the greatest remedy is the simplest one– speaking them out loud in the company of another.