Rain has come in, washed ashore, and caused its fair share of panic. But is it over? At this point in the day, I'm not sure. And I'm more than a little apprehensive to check the weather reports. Remember now, I'm terribly guilty of worrying over things I can't control––which definitely includes the weather. I'm glad that no one can fine you for the offense of worry, especially useless worry. If they did, I wouldn't be able to afford more than fifteen minutes in this wonderful world of potential worry. I would be severely in debt, financially, from what that worry cost me.
Fortunately, there aren't any kinds of fees or fines imposed on worry. But there are certainly costs, aren't there? If you stop and think about it, it's absolutely amazing what worry an actually cost us. It can keep you from doing things that you've always wanted to do. It can cost you relationships and experiences. It can become so huge in our minds that it costs us time and energy that we can't get back, ever.
Even as I write this, these seemingly sage words of advise telling you not to worry, I struggle to hear them, to heed them. After all, isn't it so much easier to give advice than to actually take it? It's easier to try to fix someone else's life than it is your own––you have less stake in it. You can look back from a place of objectivity and see shortcomings and potential solutions without ever feeling like you're the failure if something doesn't work. You're the one passing judgement, not the one being judged.
So yes, it's so much easier to sit here behind the anonymity of my computer and tell you to stop worrying about the things beyond your control. It's easier to say it than for me to do it; and I deal every day with my laundry list of worry, trying to figure out if it really is worth worrying over this or that.For the most part, I think I have it figured out. I whittle the list down pretty well, but I still struggle with some that I have definitely allowed to become super storms of worry. They control me, and they disregard my boundaries. They cause my inner worry-wart to go scurrying off to the store, loading up my carts with enough water, canned goods, flashlights, and batteries to take me through the Apocalypse. They cause me to wring my hands and waste my time and sacrifice things that I want to do, all out of fear of being caught unprepared and out of control.
They make me into the weather man, working from a forecast that no longer applies and does no good, impotent and ineffectual and uninformed. So while everyone else is walking around, happily content in the sunny skies, I lumber along, weighted down with unnecessary umbrellas and rain gear, waiting for the next storm.
They go to the beach, while I cling to the inlands, never seeing the crystal clear beaches of carefree days. What has it cost me?
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