Some people don’t care about much. I wish I was one of them. I care about a lot of stuff. Some of it is valid — who will take care of my cats if they outlive me — but most is stupid. Really, really stupid stuff.
It started early in life. When I was in the first grade my class took a field trip to an ice creamery. As a very hip 6-year old I carried a “purse” and a schoolbag (this was pre-backpack). In the school bag was a detached zippered pouch that contained my pencils. I worried about those pencils. They were yellow #2 pencils, the standard kind that cost next to nothing.
I clearly remember the teacher telling us to leave everything in the classroom except what we would need on the trip. This was before peanut allergies and epi pens so there was nothing anyone needed. (That would make us all hands free for touching, eating and pushing each other!)
However I (being hip) took my “purse” which had embroidered hankies and a quarter and my pencil pouch. The pouch was too big to fit in my purse. Neither had shoulder straps so both of my hands were full.
That was a problem when we got the ice cream treat. Fortunately my teacher took the pouch and put it in her oversized bag. I worried about that pouch all the way back. There was nothing special about the pencils. There wasn’t even a red one in the pack.
I worry about being late. Or early. Sometimes I worry about getting there at all. Each event has a prescribed timing. There is the fashionable 5 to 10 minutes late for a social event (except for dining – I am always on time or early for food) and the 5 minutes early for appointments.
Sometimes I don’t know where I’m going so I allow a few extra moments for that wrong turn. It always works out.
It’s not the end of the world if I am late or early. I don’t have any nuclear codes so why do I worry? No one really cares, not even the doctor who is running a half hour late.
Then there are all those mysterious diseases. Google has expanded my life and my realm of worry. If I get a symptom I Google it. I always assume I have the worst possible disease, one that only happens in .0001% of the population. (Strangely, that is my chance of winning the lottery which is my long-term financial plan.)
As an example I have been researching dry eye. Did you know that there are mites that live on your eyelashes? They can cause horrible things. Despite the fact that no one can beat my face hygiene, I am obsessed with it. (It’s on my list to ask the doctor. Doctors love me. I give them great cocktail party stories.)
Do you worry?
This post was inspired by Autumn Ashbough, a fellow worrier.