Yesterday my mailbox blew apart. Not over or off. It literally blew apart. The previous week of consistent 20+ mph winds might have had something to do with it.
This would be annoying on the best of days. But as Murphy's Law would dictate, it happened the day I expected to receive my first actual payment. So while chasing my outgoing Father's Day card through a wheat field wasn't enjoyable, it paled in comparison to the largely-irrational fear of either a) missing payment on a month's worth of labor or b) having to explain to my best customer that, as a total imposter without a real office, I am subject to occasional mailbox explosions that could result in his payment being blown into the neighboring state. And, oh, could you please send another payment? I seem to have lost mine.
In reality, everything will be fine. The fact that my outgoing mail was in the field means the incoming mail hadn't yet arrived (I'm going to make the assumption the mailman didn't throw it out the window as he drove by). I've replaced the box already. The Father's Day card is en route.
But isn't it funny how a problem so boringly mechanical — replacing a stupid mailbox — immediately fuels a fear of being exposed as a phony? Short of going out of business, you never get a formal grade on any of this, and that leaves a lot of room for psychological shenanigans. All you can do is recognize that these thoughts will come, fix your mailbox, and keep moving forward.