You know how some people seem born to lead…born to create….born to be a parent? I think I was born to worry. When all is well, I wonder when the sky will fall, when the blessings will evaporate, when the darkness will roll in. When life is challenging, I worry about how much worse it will get, and how I will ever survive the blackness.
As a self help queen, I have read all the books that dispense advice to those of us prone to gloom and doom as our set point. I have made the daily gratitude journal where I list my thankfulness for all that is good in my life and what blessings came to me that day. Then, I find myself worrying whether tomorrow will be bleak and what might await me in the morning. I write inspirational quotes down to help me focus on the positive, and then I worry I will lose the quote. I listen to Oprah and worry that since she left her talk show she might be feeling lost and adrift. I worry for Deepak Chopra as I listen to his meditations about what in his life happened to make him pursue such an enlightened, meditative path. You get the point. I’m a worrier.
I worry for myself. I worry for those people I love and care about. I worry about people I don’t know but run into on the street. I worry about people in far flung reaches of the world that I read about or hear about on the news. Don’t get me started about how I worry about my only daughter!!
I especially worry about my behavior and actions. I worry that in the past I said the wrong thing or behaved inappropriately and hurt someone’s feelings. I worry that in the future I will not know the right thing to say or the right way to behave, and I will embarrass myself and those around me. Yes, I was born to worry.
I was given a copy of a poem recently that expressed me perfectly…
I WORRIED by Mary Oliver
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
Maybe I wasn’t born to worry…maybe I was born to sing! (But not out loud…I can’t carry a tune and not in public, that would be too embarrassing…maybe not actually sing, but hum a little? Quietly, to myself, in the car?…)