Worry Away

“Worry is interest paid on a loan we may never receive” ~ Author Unknown


Knowing the type of worry warts my parents are – and realizing that my voice sounded awful and stuffy from a virus – I almost hoped they wouldn’t call me yesterday. Instead, nine o’ clock sharp, shortly after I got out of bed, the phone rang. It was my mother. Immediately following my throaty and stuffy hello, I heard a small gasp, and then…"what’s the matter with your voice?"

I proceeded to explain that I had probably caught a virus, and that’s when the question came. “Have you been to the doctor?” to which I replied that I hadn’t even been sick 24 hours, and it seemed a little premature to go to the doctor. “Oh my goodness, child” my mother exclaimed, “do you follow the news? The swine flu is spreading everywhere. How do you know it’s not that?”

In fairness to her, I don’t know for sure, but I could bet that if I was infected with something serious I would probably feel a little sicker than I do; if, instead, I was indeed infected with the dreaded virus and my symptoms were this bearable, I wouldn’t see the point to go to the doctor to start with – let that bad boy run its course and be done with it.

Of course, the sermon wasn’t over until I learned that two of her clients were also very sick and concerned right now, and even young people are a likely target.

When I hung up the phone I drew a breath of relief. It’s nice to know your parents love you and are concerned about your safety and wellbeing, but in all honesty, all that worry seems misplaced. 90% of the things we worry about rarely ever happen; if we are unfortunate enough to run into the 10% that actually manifests, we have likely spent so much time and energy worrying about the problem ahead of time, that when we truly need to gather our strength and map a plan of action, we are spent and unable to think clearly.

Personally, I refuse to give in to worry. If – and I repeat if – something is due to happen, I will cross the bridge when I get there. Until then, I will live in peace, albeit a little sick. And if I get any worse, it’s not like the doctor is moving away and my time is running out; I’ll go in if the need seems real.

So, until I get better, I will continue to drink plenty of fluids and get extra rest, which for a parent of three kids always on the run is not a bad deal after all. And am I worried? As Arthur Somers Roche once said, “worry is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged it cuts a channel in which all thoughts are drained.”

Right now, as I watch my kids scramble around making me hot tea and toast, my thoughts are far too rewarding to let them drain away.

The Gift of Now

In “Journey to Ixtlan", Carlos Castaneda writes about the Angel of Death as being always present near one’s left shoulder. If one turns fast enough, Castaneda writes, it is possible to catch a glimpse of the Angel, and remember to live every moment fully because it could be our last.
This past week, my friend Connie had a chance to come face to face with her own mortality. After becoming very ill because of an untreated kidney infection, she was taken to the hospital, and immediately admitted. For a few days, her doctors struggled to keep the infection under control, and her condition seemed to deteriorate by the minute.
Saying that Connie was terrified is a serious understatement. She knew her body was shutting down, and everything she had taken for granted was quickly spiraling out of control. Connie thought she was going to die.
When I spoke with her, the first words out of her mouth were about her children. She was afraid of how they would cope if something happened to her, and also realized how much she missed simply having them around. She talked of the times she got angry with them over trivial things, when she could have instead told them how much she loved them.
Having three children myself, I totally understand the frustrations of parenting. Yet, Connie’s ordeal seriously made me think.
What if something was to happen to me, and I wasn’t able to connect to all the people I love or respect before leaving this earthly plane? Would they know how much I care about them? If I was to die tomorrow, would it really matter that my three-year-old daughter flooded the bathroom today, or that my husband didn’t throw his dirty socks in the hamper this morning?
We spend such a large portion of our lives worrying about things that don’t matter, that we lose focus of what is truly important. We hold grudges against people we love over unimportant matters, and never think that we may not have another chance to make amends.
After talking to Connie, I thought about my own family, my children, my parents who live far away. I realized that many times I hang up the phone without telling my husband that I love him, I choose housework over going to the park with my children, I forget to call my parents and friends because I am too busy. I never think that those simple actions could be the last chance I have to let them know how I feel. If something suddenly happened to me – or them – those perfect opportunities would be lost forever.
We are programmed to allow life's circumstances to take over, to focus on making the next dollar as if it is the last chance we have to become rich, and we forget that it is up to us to appreciate each moment and the subtle blessings that surround us at all times. The dishes will still be there the next day, and the paperwork will be waiting for us when we get back, but will our loved ones be there tomorrow? Or even later today?
Each moment of our lives that is not fully appreciated is a moment we have wasted; it's a gift we have not accepted; it's an opportunity that may be lost forever.