When I was young, my dad always played the radio in the car. I remember a song (I think it was by Dion, but don’t hold me to that,) that was called “The Wanderer.” Well, I’ve changed the name, and now I’m “The Worrier.” I know I wasn’t always this way, so it could be a change in my mental attitude, or maybe it’s just old age creeping in. Whatever, I seem to worry about little things these days.
Last week, I worried because my SIL said they’d hit traffic after they left our house. Would he be all right with the two little guys in the car? If someone is flying, I fret about the plane ride. When my family goes anywhere on vacation, I stew until they’re home safely. If one of my children is doing something special at work, my thoughts are: make them be ok, let them come through it in good shape.
As I said, I wasn’t always a worrier. I rarely thought about danger, I didn’t give a second thought to traveling, and nothing really bothered me. Now, I’m not myself unless there’s a furrowed brow and a figurative wringing of hands. My kids laugh at me, and they, too, know I used to be a lot more carefree. “Stop worrying. Everything’s fine,” is there constant refrain. My husband, though, really gets annoyed when I start.
Example: my boys are supposed to come for dinner tonight. There’s a small snow event coming our way. Where does my mind go? Straight into worry mode. I texted them, yesterday, to see if they wanted to change the day to tomorrow. They probably laughed when they read it. But they’re fine with traveling tonight. My husband kept reminding me that the roads would be plowed and salted, and it’s only an inch that’s predicted. Just to prove my point, I reminded him of the huge chain-reaction crash that happened on Sunday not far from here. He calmed me down by reminding me that it was a flash freeze, people were going too fast, and it was totally different.
Does all of that explanation calm me down? Not a bit! I’ll be a nervous wreck this evening, and then I’ll worry some more until they’re back in their homes. Another interesting thing: I really could be concerned with the world situation, the threat of terrorists, or the decline of our society. That really doesn’t bother me at all. I adopt a qué sera, sera attitude with the big issues. It’s only the little ones that involve my family that concern me.
I think I’ve become my mother, who was a worrier. My dad was a panic freak, but my mother silently stewed. I guess those genes have finally shown themselves. There’s nothing I can do about myself, so I’ll just have to accept it. Now, I have to go make onion soup and a dessert. I hope I don’t burn the house down.