Go worry, be unhappy
By Sharla Gorder
So that’s why I’m so tired! I reread the text message, a quote from a book my friend is reading:
“Worrying is carrying tomorrow’s load with today’s strength — carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength,” wrote Corrie Ten Boom.
I sighed as I considered the implications of these wise words. Today is heavy enough, I thought. It makes no sense for me to pick up tomorrow’s burdens today and shlep them around all day. It’s exhausting.
And yet that is what I do.
I’m a worrier.
And while I know that my incessant fretting accomplishes nothing productive, I don’t know how to stop. If it were as simple as flipping a switch, like Bobby McFerrin suggests, if I could just tell myself, “Don’t worry, be happy,” and then skip on down the road, I would do it. But for most of us, it is not that simple.
Considering the fact that worry has important evolutionary roots, my fretful brain isn’t trying to destroy me; it’s trying to protect me. My hunter-gatherer ancestors needed to be hyper-alert to threats in order to survive.
However, the things I worry about in 21st-century America, are generally not physical threats to my existence. There are no saber-toothed tigers lurking in the shadows today. And yet, I fret.
Mostly I worry about the people I love, my health and the world we live in. But if I look at things objectively and in real time — today the people I love are fine; I’m alive and kickin’; and the world is still spinning on its axis.
“Don’t worry, Sharla. Be happy.” This is New Year’s resolution number one. Stop worrying.
But how?
I did a little research. I Googled: How to stop worrying. Much of what I came across seemed reductive and a bit cliché: distract yourself, challenge negative thoughts, practice gratitude… But I finally stumbled upon some advice from an online psychologist that seemed so ill-advised and unpleasant, I had to give it a try.
New instructions set to a different tune: Go worry. Be unhappy. Hmm…
For three weeks, I was to set aside 15 minutes a day to worry my fool head off (preferably not first thing in the morning or last thing at night). I was to jot my worries down as they occurred to me. Then when the timer went off, go do something I wanted to do.
I hated this plan! Why would I intentionally do something I’m desperate to quit? Like drinking a quart of vodka when I’d just hopped on the wagon.
But wait, it gets worse. The psychologist then paired this with another trendy concept that always trips me up — mindfulness.
The word itself is confusing. My mind is full enough thankyouverymuch. Wouldn’t it feel better to have some empty space up there? It just gets so crowded with those saber-tooth tigers slobbering all over the place.
But there was an interesting twist in the mindfulness practice. Sure, the instruction to focus on my breath was job one, but I found I no longer needed to beat myself up every time my mind wandered.
Because that was the point. The more my mind wandered, the more often I’d get to practice directing my thoughts, and I would carry that redirection skill with me throughout the day (and especially at night when I’m trying to sleep) to gently exit futile thought loops.
I was told to briefly acknowledge the worries but kindly assure my over-protective brain that we’d get to them all at the appointed time — my 15-minute fret sesh.
I’m in week two of my “therapy” and I’m happy to report that halfway into my worry appointments, I’m feeling pretty bored. Since I’m no longer indulging those tigers 24/7, there’s less to write about — dare I say less to worry about?
And when I get tempted to pick up tomorrow’s load today, I save my strength.
Today weighs plenty.
