Quote for the week.

We can easily manage if we will only take, each day, the burden appointed to it.  But the load will be too heavy for us if we carry yesterday's burden over again today, and then add the burden of the morrow before we are required to bear it.  
~John Newton


I'm a worrier. It's only recently I realized this. I used to be told often, that I worried too much. That only annoyed me. Someone had to do the worrying, right? Someone had to care about the bills and things. I didn't worry unnecessarily. I worried about very legitimate things. It's only been in the past few years I've noticed I hear that often and from various people. And it's true. I worry about things that are happening. What will happen. How they'll happen. I've been that way for as long as I can remember. I journaled quite a bit growing up. I spent hours anaylzing things. Situations. People. I still do. When I have a problem, I like to talk about it over and over and over. I create different ways things could go, different ways of handling the problem. I don't want to get it wrong, you know?

I started worrying about my kids as teens while they were still in diapers. How would I have this conversation, or that conversation? I worry (and bite my tongue, usually) when they climb trees or wrestle. What if they break something? I'm no good with blood or emergencies. What if I was here alone? How would I handle it? My dad is no longer 5 minutes away, rushing to the rescue as I shove damp towels onto gashes in my childrens skin (yes, I've done that - thanks dad). 

I look back on all the stupid, dangerous stuff I did as a teen (I don't know how, since I was a worrier then too) and I worry about the stupid, dangerous stuff my kids will do. Things I'll never know about (and that's both scary and good - because, of course, then I'd worry after the fact about what could have happened).

I over-research and over analyze everything. I read everything I can about certain subjects, discuss it at great length with who ever will listen and mull over it for long periods of time. 

Once I realized that I was a worrier, I thought it was a new thing. Something that came about with growing up and paying bills and being a real live adult out on your own. But then, I remembered those teen years. The writing, the brooding. All the things I thought were normal teen things (and were, to a point). I remembered being pregnant with my oldest and spending hours and hours researching everything I could on pregnancy on the internet (which was a fairly new source of endless information). Reading books upon books upon books on pregnancy and labor and child rearing. Then I had kids, and I have been completly winging it ever since. 

I find that most of the time, I spend ridiculous amounts of time and energy learning everything I can about something - and then I just go wing it anyway. Children. Gardening. Cooking. Sewing. Truth is, when you're in the middle of it, you just do it. You make mistakes, you learn from them - and you just have to trust that in the end, everything will be ok. It won't matter how many books I read, or hours I spend worrying. It can all change in seconds.


So. I don't think this is anything new for me. I think it's just intensified as I've gotten older  - I've had more things to worry about!! But I used to be (a little more) carefree. The dishes could and would wait. I didn't worry about when they'd get done - they just would. Dirty bedrooms? No time - when the sun was shining I really had no other choice but to enjoy it.


I'm learning - I'm teaching myself - to (re)learn when to let go. I'll always be a worrier, I'm sure. It's in my nature. And sometimes it's good. It's practical. It keeps things running smoothly, it helps me be prepared. But there's a balance (there's the word of the year, huh?) that needs to be achieved. I need to take one day at a time. Everything else will fall into place. What else can it do? Things will happen or they won't. Unless I'm taking action, no amount of worrying will ever do anything.


Yesterday, I had a couple of hours alone, I visited a nearby organic farm and when I came home the sun had peeked out of an otherwise gray day. I began to get the laundry together - to rush to put it on the line. And instead, I stopped. I opened the window, laid down on the couch - and napped. The laundry never got done. It won't get done today, since I'm working 12 hours. It may not get done tomorrow. But it will get done. And there will be many more sunny days to hang it out on the line. Yesterday, I let go. And I napped. And I didn't even feel guilty.