I remember my dad and his siblings teasing their mom about being such a worry wart. It confused me because, even back then, I perceived my grandma’s worrying as just her way of loving us. As I got older, I understood why they were annoyed.
So many questions.
So nosey.
I’d often think, “Quit worrying about me and leave me alone,” as I rolled my eyes and refused to share the details of my escapades.
I do not remember her ever getting defensive when they gave her a hard time about worrying, she just kept at it. She wore her worrying like a cloak or a badge of honor. She didn’t hide it or sugar coat it. She was in their faces (and mine) about her worries. I do wonder if, because of how my dad and some of his siblings turned out, maybe my grandma hadn’t been worrying enough.
I’m not going to get into how those were different times, and they required different styles of parenting. Did anyone worry about their parenting style back then? I’m sure my grandma wasn’t worrying about whether she was doing a good job, she was just wanting to make sure they stayed out of jail.
Recently, on what had started out as a lazy Sunday morning, Will came running out of his bedroom pulling on a t-shirt and grabbing his boots. He’d just gotten a text from a friend who’d told him that the girlfriend of a mutual friend had texted to say that her boyfriend (a member of Will’s friend group) had not returned from camping when he said he would. Texts weren’t answered. Voicemails had not come in. She was panicked. Will and some members of the friend group had decided to rally and drive out to the mountains where this friend was supposed to be camping. Will was shaky and I warned him to take it easy and make a plan, so that he and others in the group weren’t at risk of harm while they looked out for the missing camper. “Remember,” I told him, “Manifest a positive outcome. Don’t dwell on the what-ifs, unless you are focusing on only the good what-ifs.”
They were 30 minutes from town, just before losing cell service, when he got a text that the friend was almost back to town. The friend was embarrassed to admit that he and his girlfriend had gotten their wires crossed and miscommunicated about his return time. Then the friend said, “Were you guys really coming to look for me?” After giving the camper a hard time for scaring the shit out of them, Will said, “Of course we were coming to look for you.” The friend was surprised that his group cared enough to drop everything and look for him.
Later, Will and I talked about how the Universe will go to great lengths to show folks they are loved. I laughed, “Geez, couldn’t you just tell each other that you love each other?” I like seeing his group worrying about each other. It reinforces that fact that he has found good friends.
Worry has gotten a bad rap. It wasn’t cool (way back in the 70s) to be a worry wart. It’s not cool now, either. Today, worry warts are called helicopter moms or hovering parents. I can see that there are less annoying ways to worry than my grandma’s style, and I do try to worry without being all up in their business. Of course, if you asked them, they might not agree.
The other day, out for my morning walk, I discovered this baby bottle lying on the side of the road. My mind jumped to all the hovering mom conclusions or, some might say, judgments. “That poor child! Who is in charge? How does that even happen?” On and on my brain went, circling around all the possibilities of how horrible this baby’s life must be if it’s parent/parents can’t even keep track of its bottle. (Why I didn’t first go to, “Wow. Bummer, the bottle was lost, but at least this baby was being fed,” is a whole different post.)
Then I got to noticing how worried I was about the baby, and how futile worry is. What was my worrying accomplishing? Did it help that baby any? Then I wondered if folks are less worried about others than they were in my grandma’s day. Do folks care about each other as much as they did back then?
Isn’t worry a form of love? Worry is caring. Worry might even be a form of manifesting. Will told me that he and his two buddies talked about focusing on their friend driving into town, as they were heading into the mountains, instead of focusing on the worst possible scenario. When I’m worried about one of my two, I picture them calling me. I picture Jen calling, from the safety of her apartment, to tell me all about her night out. Or I picture Will calling to tell me of the big catfish he caught, when he was on a river out of cell service. I’ll admit that sometimes, especially if I haven’t eaten, I’ll spiral into all the negative what-ifs, but I am getting better at not sharing all those with Jen and Will.
Worry might be the ripple we send out to the Universe that says make sure they get home safely. But the tone of the worry matters. Worry doesn’t need to judge the parents for losing the baby bottle. Worry can, and should, focus on that baby’s healthy future. Maybe something like, “Oh, I hope they had another bottle in the car.” Or, “I bet it fell out of the stroller as the parent was walking the baby and their puppy.”
In the absence of being able to do anything for others, including that baby, the least we can do is send a ripple out to the Universe and worry them home.