I may not be an expert on not worrying about things, but I know exactly how much of a waste worrying becomes. I moved into a dorm in college, and three months before I even moved, I bought bedding to fit a full-sized bed. My mom thought I was nuts, but I told her I had concerns and a plan. I was concerned that twin bedding would not fit the extra-long twin beds in the dorm, and I knew when I finished living in the dorm after a semester or two at the most, I would then find an apartment and a full-sized bed so I would not have to buy all new bedding. At that point, I could just buy the bed. I worried about what would happen when I moved out of the place that I had not even moved into yet, but I had a plan. It feels insane even repeating that story, but it really happened, and that gives you some insight into how little I worry…(*insert cough).
Of course, I worry. I’m human. I worry about living moment to moment. I worry about not anticipating the part of my timeline that I cannot even imagine yet, which ultimately becomes an exercise in futility. “I get so overwhelmed.” I’ve heard this sentence—perhaps in different words but implying the same meaning—from seven different people over the course of the last two weeks. The state of being overwhelmed is not my favorite feeling, yet, it is easily one of the most familiar to which I can relate. I started thinking about the specifics of what these factors are that become so overwhelming to people: work circumstances, planning a wedding, a new baby, surgeries, divorce, career change, deployment, custody battles, school, marital trouble, children struggling, death, and juggling daily life in general.
I am losing that battle of avoiding age 30. I used to think 30 was pretty old, actually. And now, it is hanging out in my backyard, smoking a cigarette, and waiting for the day that I just accept the fact that we are going to have to get along. I am realizing—the more that I plummet further into adulthood—that the goalpost for what we consider “overwhelming” will consistently change throughout every phase of our lives. Eight years ago, I worried about finding good parking spaces on campus, or what I was going to do with my life after graduation, or how to find better ways to end really bad dates without asking my friends to call me with fake emergencies. Now, I worry about stimulating my toddler’s brain development, or whether she’s getting enough nutrients that she needs, and how I will get through long days when Netflix crashes, or how to fix that weird sound in my car, and honestly, this list could go on. Eventually, I’ll be worrying about retirement. It is the nature of the beast that there will always be questions that we will not have the answers to and yet, we will have to find a way to be okay with discovering those answers at the same time that the rest of the world does.
My daughter has just turned two. A year ago, she did not like solid food at all, she was not highly interested in walking one bit, and she spoke four or five words and seemed content with that. As a new mom, obviously I worried about the timeline and expectations for a one-year-old, and I was worried that she did not take an interest in things that, developmentally, she should be fully anticipating . . . but she wasn’t. I had two options: I could let her do those things when she was ready and relax about it, or I could get stressed every single time she rejected food at a meal and chose to remain idle when she could be exploring the world around her. I chose to stress about it. I asked questions at every doctor’s visit, I called my mom with more questions, and eventually, she did all of those things that I was so scared she wouldn’t try. I learned one blatant lesson: my stress did not help anyone involved. Obviously, it came as no help to me, and it didn’t benefit my daughter in any way. If anything, it could have hindered the entire process to where she hated mealtime or trying to walk because she could feel my stress, too.
Not having control of every detail can be a struggle sometimes. Admitting failure is another tough pill for most people to swallow. Failure can look like so many things to so many different people: loss or rejection, to not be given a chance, admitting something is wrong, an unforeseen outcome. But aren’t all outcomes unforeseen? We can have an idea about how we would choose our circumstances to be, but until we get to the end of that road, our demons and fears are still tagging along the whole trip, tugging obnoxiously on our skin, asking if we’re there yet. We are always subjected to the swell of the sea, and the bitterness and joy of our experiences are what make the journey so surprising and worth it all.
I wish I had some remedy to suggest that would work every time to calm any stress or worry that arises, but I don’t. I pray, I try to stop controlling the universe that tosses me around like a weightless little plastic toy in my kid’s hand (she’s into throwing things right now, which is just perfect), and I see how it plays out.
Sometimes, the surprise of the outcome—in all of its fragility— becomes the most incredible and adventurous moment…a moment that is easy to miss when we are clouded by the tension surrounding it.
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” John 14:27
God bless,
M
Blue Withens 