What, Me Worry?

I've come to the conclusion that becoming an adult means learning to worry. And becoming a parent means you worry in spades. I think about worrying (perhaps I worry about it?) and wonder if we worry more because we are so well-educated.

For example, as a child, I loved to fly in airplanes. I was fortunate enough to have parents that could afford vacations that included flying. I loved every bit of each flight - the seats, the food, the flight crew and, most of all, the turbulence. What could be better than being high up in the air and suddenly dropping several thousand feet? Like a roller coaster - whee! Today, I know better and I know more and so I worry. I worry about the safety of the plane, the germs I might be breathing in the air, and, most of all, I worry about turbulence and disaster.

As a mom, I naturally worry about my kids. Generally, my fretting increases as the world around me and my children change. I read Time magazine which is packed with things to worry about - bird flu, global warming, terrorism... My son is about to turn 18 which means he gets that friendly Selective Service postcard in the mail: (It's fast. It's easy. It's the law!) Immediately my prayers for the soldiers in Iraq and their families turn to panic at considering that may one day be me.

My fears are real and embellished: My kids riding in cars with inexperienced drivers. My kids riding in cars when drunk drivers are looming around every turn. Although I try my best to minimize the risk, I realize that it's fruitless. It's totally and completely out of my control.

Being a parent isn't the only ticket to worrydom. I have several friends without kids and they join me in this grownup fretfest: Will interest rates go up? How long can my parents live on their own? Is my job secure or should I consider other careers? Plain and simple, if you're an adult, you become a pro at worrying about everything.

So, what's an adult to do? I've developed this annoying habit of waking up at 4am to create elaborate scenarios about which I worry. This does nothing except make me really tired and crabby. Although on the plus side, sometimes crabbiness replaces worry which may be a good thing.

My sure-fire technique for dealing with my episodes of being an overwrought worry-wart is to become a recluse. I turn off the TV news, shut down my computer and I stop reading magazines. I don't look for things to worry about. I sometimes lose myself in a fat work of light fiction that takes me away from reality and the terrors of my own mind. I limit my concerns to what I see around me instead of what might be lurking throughout the world.

Is my worry avoidance strategy simply escapism framed in denial and self-centeredness? Damn right it is.