what, me worry…

This was in the Parade magazine this morning, written by Connie Schultz, but it could have been written by me – it is me… except I have an iPhone, not a BlackBerry. Otherwise, it’s me… 🙂

Let’s say you agree to meet me for dinner at 7 pm. For reasons known only to you and God – and definitely not to me – you’re late.

By 7:10, I think you’re stuck in traffic. I’m a little annoyed that you didn’t call my cell, but I’m sure everything’s fine. Really.

7:12: Forget fine. You’ve been in an accident, I just know it. I’m hoping it’s just a fender bender but my heart is racing. When in doubt, eat. I reach for the butter. Maybe I’ll put a little bread on it.

7:15: I pull out my BlackBerry and surf the Web for news alerts about 12-car pileups within a 20-mile radius.

7:17: Clearly, you’ve been kidnapped. I look around the restaurant and resent all the people who are yukking it up while I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to raise your ransom money.

7:19: You walk in, flushed and full of laughing apologies. I’m so relieved, I yell at you.

You respond by telling me what people have been saying all my life: “You worry too much.”

Like I don’t worry enough about that already.

Nobody can come up worst-case scenarios faster than I can. Give me any situation and a few minutes to think about it, and I can tell you how it could turn out very badly. Headlines are often involved. Above the fold.

My overwrought nature came into full bloom when I was about 8 years old. I started grilling my mother about heaven, a state of boring bliss she assured me would last forever. The key word here: For-evvvvvv-er.

“What will we do there all day?” I asked.

“We won’t have to do anything.” Mom said as she stood at the sink and washed dishes. “It’s heaven. We’ll just relax.”

“You’ll love it,” she said, pausing to stare out the window. “We’ll be together. With no housework.”

“Well, how will we find each other?”

“People will be giving directions,” Mom said, her voice starting to rise.

“What people?”

“Angels, Connie. Angels will point you in the right direction.”

“So I’m going to be all alone when I get there?”

“Of course not,” she said, patting our dog’s head. “Shilo will be waiting for you.”

“Shilo’s going to die?”

That pretty much sealed it for me. Life was a long road of uncertainty, and it would be my full-time job, with no benefits, to worry for all of you people who think all those bumps and potholes are going to be somebody else’s destiny.

Now I don’t want to make this a gender issue, but I would like to point out that a Gallup poll last year reported that stress and worry decline for men after age 50.

What of women, you ask?

The poll included this whopper of an addendum: Women suffer greater stress, worry, and sadness than men – at all ages.

Consider me not even close to stunned. Exhibit A: My marriage. Nobody is more willfully oblivious to life’s sneaky turns than my husband. Happy, happy, that guy. Likes to rub it in too.

“Why do you worry?” he always asks me.

“I’m doing it for both of us,” I always reply. “Honey,” I add.  Usually.

another lesson…

A friend recently sent me this note. I want so badly to be as free as the person who wrote this. It’s a daily struggle to not care what other think and to not order my daily life around hiding or covering a part of me (both physically and mentally) that someone else may find ‘unattractive’… I wonder if I my heart and mind were so critical of others when I was young that maybe this is my penitence for that behavior… At this stage in my life, I try so hard to not judge or be critical, not only outwardly, but more importantly, not in my heart. I try to give everyone a clean slate when I meet them, one that is not mired by a person’s looks, family or financial situation, or how many tattoos or piercings a person may have… If I can give that much leeway to someone else, why can’t I give it to myself?? Another area that I am definitely still working on, however, is that once a person (even one who is totally clean cut by society’s standards) does something rude or hurtful to someone I care about, I have a really hard time forgiving that person. If the transgression is against me, I have no problem “letting bygones be bygones” and moving on; but if it’s against someone I love, well… let’s just say this is an area of constant struggle for me.

Anyway – back to this wonderful note that a friend sent:

“As I’ve aged, I’ve become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I’ve become my own friend…

I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM or sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60’s and 70’s, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love… I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.

They, too, will get old.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody’s beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself anymore… I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it).”