I worry about worrying

I worry about worrying. I worry when I am worrying, and I worry when I am not worrying. Before you reach for the phone to counsel me - or gently suggest that I see a counsellor - let me say this: this is exactly why I ramble. 

Sometimes I need to place my confusing thoughts somewhere outside my head, preferably before they start holding a committee meeting inside it.

Those of you who are non-worriers, please feel free to stop reading and move on to some more meaningful activity. Do not waste your calm and well-organised minds on this blog.

Let me try to explain.

I grew up like many middle-class children, without too many worries. My parents took care of my needs. I knew my wants - and certainly my greeds - could not always be met, because we did not have the resources for everything. But life was simpler then, and we learned to settle for what was given. So, in those early years, worry did not occupy much space. It had not yet been given a room in my head.

Alongside this, I was taught through spiritual lessons that I should not worry: the birds are cared for, the hairs on my head are numbered, and God knows my needs. Somewhere along the way, worry became not just unnecessary, but  wrong - sinful.

Then I grew up. 

Suddenly I was told to take responsibility for my life, shape my destiny, build something meaningful, leave a legacy, and care well for my spouse and children. The list of expectations kept growing. I began to believe that the only way to meet them was to take control of as many outcomes as possible.

Of course, I also knew that absolute control is an illusion. So, the next best thing seemed to be staying alert—watching the road for anything that might trip me up. That is worry, after all: a feeling of concern or uneasiness about something that might happen. I told myself that a responsible person should have a healthy concern for the future. So, if I did not worry, I felt irresponsible.

But my upbringing kept whispering back: worry is not good. And there was the knot. If I worried, I felt guilty. If I did not worry, I felt careless.

That is the strange burden of worry. A worried heart easily becomes a distracted mind, and a distracted mind can make us difficult companions to the people who love us. 

Whether I am worrying about the future, worrying about worrying, or worrying that I am not worrying enough, the result is often the same: I am less present, less peaceful, and less kind than I want to be.

But now we have a new term for people who worry: “overthinking people.” (OTP). This is often treated as a matter of “nature” and not primarily as an issue of “nurture.” I am who I am because I was born this way. I can easily explain it away - blame it on my brain and my genes. Or I can blame it on the past, the home I was born into, the trauma at various points in life, and a few other factors waiting patiently in the blame game. Even this can be now be medically explained - the nurture one - by epigenetics.  

Truth is - Genetics or epigenetics can not take all the blame, I am still responsible for my worry or OTP. If you need a scientific perspective, you can read this.  DOI: 10.15566/ax8sz220

Yes, overthinking and worry are brothers or sisters. Overthinking leads to worry, and worry leads to overthinking. They work together very efficiently. Yes, there may be both nature and nurture at work, but whatever the source, worry remains worrisome.

Some of you who are living lives of blissful non-worry or non-overthinking, and who still decided to read this far, might be thinking, “This is going nowhere.” Fair enough. But I have lived long enough to realise that there are many like me who worry about worrying and also worry about not worrying.

But then, recently, while reading the Good Book, I found what seemed like a good plan of action.

“Has anyone by fussing in front of the mirror ever gotten taller by so much as an inch? All this time and money wasted on fashion—I do not, by the way—do you think it makes that much difference? Instead of looking at the fashions, walk out into the fields and look at the wildflowers. They never primp or shop, but have you ever seen color and design quite like it? The ten best-dressed men and women in the country look shabby alongside them.” And then: “Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

Which means I need to walk into the fields and look at wildflowers more. I also need to stop overthinking about tomorrow. But then, am I allowed to worry about today? Or should I simply face the troubles - or non-troubles - that come along, with a bit of controlled, handed-over overthinking?

It reminded me again: “If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers - most of which are never even seen - don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied…”

So perhaps I should see more wildflowers and try not to be so preoccupied with the overthinking that leads to worry. At the very least, flowers seem to worry less than I do, and they still manage to look quite good. And I will be less of a pain for others too.