I worried

I worried

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,

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,

am I going to get rheumatisim,

lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up.  And took my old body a

and went out into the morning

and sang.

Mary Oliver

I’ve had periods in my life when I was doing work that I wasn’t really enjoying and the weight of the responsibilities pressed on me.  I would worry about deadlines and getting things done.  I worried about how to fit in the work with the family and how I might eke out a few minutes of “me” time.  I’ve worried about money–really, just worried about not having enough money.  And then there are days when I’ve worried about spending too much money.  Most days I fret about weighing too much or eating too much or not eating enough of the right kinds of foods.

But what’s the point?

This has been driven home lately because my 11 year old is worrying A LOT.  I get frustrated with her.  I provide her with food, shelter, clothing.  All her basic needs are covered. I even cover most of her “I wants.”  What is there to worry about?

School, TAKS testing, boys.  Weighing too much.  Friends–keeping them, making them, losing them.

“Holy Cow,” I say.  It’s only going to get worse as you get older.  You’ve got to get a grip on this worrying now.

Maybe it’s time we give this up.  And go out and sing.

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