Trading worry for wonder

“Let it go, let it roll right off your shoulder/Don’t you know the hardest part is over/Time falls away, but these small hours, these small hours, still remain … “ The song “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas inspires me like none other to let things go. I do this when I stop worrying, when I discontinue fighting for control — as much control as I can get my hands on. I know that sounds a bit harsh, but truth generally is — at least for the one who has believed the lie that worry is merely taking responsibility and showing concern for my life.

Let me explain.

I must confess that I am currently learning how much I have allowed fear to rule my life. It has clung to me in a very subtle form, masking itself and clouding decisions and actions, but it slowly sucks out life’s enjoyment like leeches in a dirty creek. I hadn’t perceived that this “little” problem called worry stemmed from fear until recently, nor had I recognized its subtle power. Anxiety helped me feel as if I was somewhat in control of things that really were beyond my control — such as how people perceive and receive me. Somehow, if I heightened a problem in my mind, I felt empowered enough to do something about it. Fretting over a matter was my way of staying on top and in control and, let me tell you, it doesn’t work.

I took a homeless lady’s hands in mine at the bus station downtown, looked in her eyes, and sang her “You Are My Sunshine.”

“Willie,” she said to her fourth-grader, “you remember that song, ‘You Are My Sunshine’? You know that song, Willie.” He looked nervously down the corridor.

“I’ll check what time the bus leaves, Mom.” Off he ran.

“Willie,” I caught up with him and looked in his eyes. “Thank you for looking out for your mom. I really honor you for doing that.”

“Whatever,” he replied, eyes averting my gaze.

What a childhood, framed on the existence of constant threats to overcome and danger to prevent. How can one let go when all one knows is to hang on, tooth and claw, to survive? I have no excuse like little Willie to offer for my behavior. I was never homeless, discarded and sitting on a bench until my next destination could be reached. I was looked out for, cared, loved and nurtured. So why this worry, why this driving need to be in control? Every time I felt I had attained a position of dominance, the battle could never be over because I had to fight to keep the ground gained. It is a losing war, setting the stage for exhaustion and, ultimately, failure. It is impossible to have complete control, therefore the fight to be in control — worry — is useless and detrimental.