Worrying is a Waste of Time

One of the benefits of aging is that life seems to smooth out a bit, at least for me. Crises don’t manifest as often; irregularities seem to resolve or disappear; frustrations are hardly worth indulging. Although I’ve believed in the title of this post, I think, for the most part, I’m finally living with little worrying. And that is a very good thing.

I decided it might be helpful to settle on a definition of worrying. I chose the #1 definition by Merriam-Webster:

1: to afflict with mental distress or agitation: make anxious

That seemed to pretty much sum up how I’ve experienced worrying. When I was younger, particularly in my 20s, I had an abundance of issues to worry about: finding activities that fulfilled or entertained me; figuring out how to best communicate with my husband; deciding how many friends I should have in my life; and generating clients for my consulting and training business. I must admit that I didn’t worry much about this last one because my husband had a steady job. But then he decided to become an independent consultant, and we were both on our own.

And this is when I realized there was no point in worrying.

One of my favorite books was Do What You Love, The Money Will Follow. Some people would probably describe it as a typical “self-help” book. But the book touched me in my core. Unfortunately, my husband didn’t agree with that philosophy, but one way or another, I felt we would be financially okay.

And we were.

Whether he ever changed his mind about that philosophy, I don’t know. But I think I've had enough faith for both of us.

Now that we are both retired, I have enough time on my hands to find lots of things to worry about. Still, I tend not to worry about my own well-being. For example, I lost one breast to cancer, and I have no idea if the other breast will succumb. But I get a mammogram and get blood tests, so I give it very little thought.

I must admit that when I have memory lapses of words or events (which are still rare), I worry in that moment. But I tend not to ruminate about it. I just go on to the next thing.

I sometimes worry about my friends. I have a friend who is trying very hard to sell her home so that she can move into a new one. I don’t obsess about her dilemma, but keep her in my prayers.

I do worry about my friends in Israel. Again, I don’t obsess about their circumstances, and if I find myself thinking about them, I pray.

I think sometimes about all the people who have rejected me because of something I said or did. I’m finally coming to terms (since I’ve tried to reconcile with a number of them) that those relationships are part of the past, and I’m letting them go.

I’m trying very hard to be honest here and identify situations or people I worry about. But it has truly become difficult to recognize them. Am I fooling myself? Am I in denial? Am I weird? (Don’t answer that.)

I think I would describe myself as content. I am writing with great satisfaction and having wonderful conversations with readers. I’m reading intriguing books. I exercise regularly. My husband and I are absorbed with politics, and he does tend to get aggravated a great deal, but I keep my rants short and move on. Generally, I can’t do much about political events, and it really is a waste of time to obsess about them. I find that I am greatly satisfied with the latest dastardly revelations about the Democrats and the Left. But I don’t worry. I don’t worry about whether there will be punishment. (Unlikely.) I don’t worry if they will continue to commit crimes and misdemeanors. (They will.) I find instead that I express my disappointments and frustrations, but I keep them short, since I can do nothing about them. And there is too much in life to appreciate.

My life, overall, is a good one: Those things I can control, I will. Those I can’t, I will try to come to terms with them. And prayers are always available.

Worrying is a waste of time.