Worry and Dread
The other day I was driving down 70 towards Fountain Square for my weekly writing session with my friend Sarah, feeling that feeling you only get when you’ve finished an annoying, tedious project and suddenly your time is yours again, no obligations to anyone else, nothing to dread. The sun was shining, life was good, my hair felt non-tangly for once…I felt great.
Until a couple hours later when I looked at my work email to see that the client with the annoying, tedious project had discovered something new that would require me to change what I had done. I still had an hour left of writing time with Sarah, but now I couldn’t concentrate. I tried not to read the entire email, but as I sat there with my blank page open, all I could think about was how I had something looming over my head again. It probably wasn’t going to be a big deal, but I wasn’t going to be able to relax until it was finished and off my plate.
A few years ago I read an article about life advice from people at death’s door. That sounds like a kind of rude and dramatic way to say it, but it was people who were at the end of their lives giving advice to the younger generation, so yeah, death’s door. And the number one regret people had was that they’d worried too much. There was no point in it, they said. They wish they had just lived in the moment and enjoyed life as it happened.
How do you do that? I love my life – I love the chaos and variety of the projects I have going, I love the freedom I have over my days, I love my friends and family and all the people who inspire me in different ways, and I love the way my life is evolving into this unique, Haley-shaped form. But I still spend a good chunk of every week waiting for something to be over. Waiting to finish this project. Waiting to be done with something someone is expecting of me. Waiting till I’ve handled some annoying chore or errand I’m dreading.
OR I’m worrying about possibilities. What if Clyde needs his teeth cleaned and has to go under anesthesia and dies? What if I get arthritis? What if this weird mole on my arm that I’ve always had and which is probably fine is cancerous? What if I never live up to my potential and turn into a weak and untalented bum who never accomplishes anything?
Michael has been out of town for work this entire week. Last night I was laying on my back in corpse pose during the meditation part of my yoga class, and in the middle of trying to relax all the different parts of my body like I’m supposed to, my brain erupts with a single, panic-inducing thought: “WHAT IF MICHAEL GETS MUGGED IN TORONTO AND DIES.”
You should know that this thought came out of the blue. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than the fact that my butt muscles kind of hurt. This is just how kind my brain is to me.
So then my entire body clenched up as I pictured my life as an inconsolable widow, alone and always longing for the love I lost, forever brokenhearted and incomplete. This isn't abnormal. I think about this maybe once a week.
Then I thought, “Wait a minute. He’s in Canada. Canada is like the safest country ever, except for maybe Holland or whatever.”
“That’s right,” my brain says. “He’s more likely to get hurt in OTR when you guys move there in a couple weeks.”
Thanks, Brain.
How do you live your life not worrying unnecessarily? I’m not talking about real situations that require worry – I’m talking about situations where worrying isn’t going to do anything except stress you out and keep you from enjoying life. I don’t have the answer. Maybe you just have to try really hard? Maybe you need psychiatric help? Maybe you should stop thinking and actually try to do the meditation part of yoga class?
When I was a kid I went through a phase where I had problems sleeping. I'd lay awake thinking the house was going to burn down or worrying about my parents dying or my dog dying. Finally, after weeks of traumatizing myself, avoiding bedtime, and sneaking in to sleep on the floor next to my parents' bed, I developed a coping mechanism. Whenever I started to think one of those thoughts, I'd picture myself slamming a door on it. My brain was a long, long hallway of doors, and I could open and close any I wanted.
I still do that when I have problems sleeping. Some things just aren't worth thinking about. So maybe that's the answer? Avoidance! Avoid anything unpleasant!
The more I write about this the more I think maybe I should find a therapist or some Xanax. It's okay – all writers are a little neurotic.
Until a couple hours later when I looked at my work email to see that the client with the annoying, tedious project had discovered something new that would require me to change what I had done. I still had an hour left of writing time with Sarah, but now I couldn’t concentrate. I tried not to read the entire email, but as I sat there with my blank page open, all I could think about was how I had something looming over my head again. It probably wasn’t going to be a big deal, but I wasn’t going to be able to relax until it was finished and off my plate.
A few years ago I read an article about life advice from people at death’s door. That sounds like a kind of rude and dramatic way to say it, but it was people who were at the end of their lives giving advice to the younger generation, so yeah, death’s door. And the number one regret people had was that they’d worried too much. There was no point in it, they said. They wish they had just lived in the moment and enjoyed life as it happened.
How do you do that? I love my life – I love the chaos and variety of the projects I have going, I love the freedom I have over my days, I love my friends and family and all the people who inspire me in different ways, and I love the way my life is evolving into this unique, Haley-shaped form. But I still spend a good chunk of every week waiting for something to be over. Waiting to finish this project. Waiting to be done with something someone is expecting of me. Waiting till I’ve handled some annoying chore or errand I’m dreading.
OR I’m worrying about possibilities. What if Clyde needs his teeth cleaned and has to go under anesthesia and dies? What if I get arthritis? What if this weird mole on my arm that I’ve always had and which is probably fine is cancerous? What if I never live up to my potential and turn into a weak and untalented bum who never accomplishes anything?
Michael has been out of town for work this entire week. Last night I was laying on my back in corpse pose during the meditation part of my yoga class, and in the middle of trying to relax all the different parts of my body like I’m supposed to, my brain erupts with a single, panic-inducing thought: “WHAT IF MICHAEL GETS MUGGED IN TORONTO AND DIES.”
You should know that this thought came out of the blue. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than the fact that my butt muscles kind of hurt. This is just how kind my brain is to me.
So then my entire body clenched up as I pictured my life as an inconsolable widow, alone and always longing for the love I lost, forever brokenhearted and incomplete. This isn't abnormal. I think about this maybe once a week.
Then I thought, “Wait a minute. He’s in Canada. Canada is like the safest country ever, except for maybe Holland or whatever.”
“That’s right,” my brain says. “He’s more likely to get hurt in OTR when you guys move there in a couple weeks.”
Thanks, Brain.
How do you live your life not worrying unnecessarily? I’m not talking about real situations that require worry – I’m talking about situations where worrying isn’t going to do anything except stress you out and keep you from enjoying life. I don’t have the answer. Maybe you just have to try really hard? Maybe you need psychiatric help? Maybe you should stop thinking and actually try to do the meditation part of yoga class?
When I was a kid I went through a phase where I had problems sleeping. I'd lay awake thinking the house was going to burn down or worrying about my parents dying or my dog dying. Finally, after weeks of traumatizing myself, avoiding bedtime, and sneaking in to sleep on the floor next to my parents' bed, I developed a coping mechanism. Whenever I started to think one of those thoughts, I'd picture myself slamming a door on it. My brain was a long, long hallway of doors, and I could open and close any I wanted.
I still do that when I have problems sleeping. Some things just aren't worth thinking about. So maybe that's the answer? Avoidance! Avoid anything unpleasant!
The more I write about this the more I think maybe I should find a therapist or some Xanax. It's okay – all writers are a little neurotic.