Put The Worry Down
“What’s happening now has me so worried—I had to give some up,” a friend of mine confided to me the other day.
“What do you mean?” I asked, scalding my mouth in the process on freshly brewed Earl Grey.
“Well, I have the A-Team. Trump for starters,” she said.
Then losing my corporate health care when I went to work for the non-profit.” She was staring at a point somewhere out on the horizon, far away from our little cafe.
Or she was fixated on the large brown spider who’d set up camp on the wall next to the bathrooms. Either way, she had fallen backward deep into her worry.
I immediately regretted asking the question.
“We have one kid in middle school, which is just another term for Bully Central, another is in high school which means next year we start looking at and visiting colleges.”
Her face and chest had turned a deep shade of pink and she was fanning herself even though we were seated in the shade—and it was 68 degrees.
“And as you know my twenty-one-year-old daughter is traveling in India. ALONE!
India for fuck’s sake!
She could die and we wouldn’t find out for a month!”
“Sounds like your worry plate is full.”
“Ha, ya think?”
“That’s why I had to let some go. The old ones. I just don’t have the bandwidth to juggle them all anymore.”
“So which ones got the ax?” I inquired, flipping an ice cube into my tea with a spoon.
“Oh, the dog for sure. I mean she still has hot spots and chews her paws raw, but right now she is the least of my worries.”
“What else?” I figured there must be more.
‘Oh God, let’s see… my weight, the mole on Craig’s back, checking the cable bill to see what the kids are renting when we’re not home…”
I laughed.
“The tire pressure on Lizzie’s car, the tire pressure on my own car! As a matter of fact, the routine service light has been on for well over a month!”
We decided to order a brownie to share.
“Listen, all of that stuff used to light my hair on fire—now, I just can’t be bothered.”
“You need an assistant! Someone to carry the B-Team worries” I declared.
“Great! You write the ad!” She laughed.
I love her laugh. It’s a fascinating blend of wind chimes and barking seal. I hardly ever hear it anymore and I miss it.
“You show your love through suffering.” I offered tentatively. I felt safe as long as her mouth was full of brownie.
It was one of those things you can only say to a friend you’ve known forever. A friend who has seen you naked at your fattest and kept a straight face. A friend who calls you at midnight to ask you if a full body rash on her eight-week-old baby is bad—even though you’re not a mother.
Someone who has suffered right by your side through every relationship and was the first to call when your dad died.
She swallowed hard.
“Explain,” she said with brownie on her teeth.
“Well, the level of the worry you carry shows how much you care. If you really love someone…”
“I worry about you 24/7! You never have to worry about a thing because I’ve got it covered! I’ll worry about it for you! All of it! Along with the dog’s paw and the criminal rise in the cost of health insurance!”
“Exactly!” I shouted, making the point with my fork.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Guilty as charged. So, what do I do? How do I get off the hamster wheel of worry?”
“Mind your own business.”
She rolled her eyes.
“And meditate.”
“You’ve said that for years.”
“Only because it works. Listen, we all know you love us. Put the worry down! Let everybody worry about their own shit. Besides, you must be exhausted!”
“Oh my god you have no idea!”
You guys, we all have so many worries rattling around in our brains and they’re causing big trouble. They cause us health problems, relationship problems and they suck every drop of sweetness out of life.
I should have worried more! Said no one ever as they took their last breath.
And let me be clear, I’m writing this as much for myself as anyone.
Carry on,
xox
