Human beings will worry away at a problem in much the same way as a dog behaves with a bone.

If a dog keeps its jaws firmly clamped around a bone it is because there is always another dog, or human killjoy, hovering, waiting for their moment to steal it.

Where your stresses, anxieties worries and hurts are concerned, nobody is going to do that to you.

Curiously, human beings act as if there is something to be gained by turning their stresses and worries etc. over and over again in their mind, and keeping a weather eye on them at all times - like they're going to run off somewhere, if you don't.

Well, the fact of the matter is, there's no chance of that. Stresses and anxieties and worries and hurts are grotesque creatures. They have huge, bloated bodies and two teenie weenie, spindly legs. They can't go far and they certainly can't go fast.

But because they don't want us to realise that, they tend to be very big on the social graces. Biddable is their middle name. Their manners hark back to a bygone age.

You only have to say to them: "I say, old chum, would you mind if I just tether you to that post over there for 15 minutes while I take time out to smell the roses? or whatever, and theyll reply: "Not at all, old fruit. You just carry on. I'll wait here for you." And so they will.

Try it sometime. Human beings hold on to their worries, because they are frightened that their worries will run away with them. Not possible with those spindly little legs!

But you can choose to walk, float or dance away from them for 15 minutes at a time, whenever you choose to savour the sunshine, or soak in a bath or listen to your favourite music.

And then you start to think like the resourceful person you are: "If I can do it for 15 minutes, what's to stop me doing it for 20 and 30 minutes, and an hour?" Just ask them nicely. The answer will still be: "Of course, old fruit, we'll just sit here quietly in the shade and wait for you. You take your time."

What's to stop you offering your stresses some 'me' time in the shade of a big old tree?

(C) 2006 Annie Kaszina