I wrote once about my past life.
I used to worry about everything because when I did,then nothing usually happened.
Which was a good thing.

I don’t remember when this began, but I do remember at a very early age discovering I needed to worry.
About everything. And it it would then follow that everything would work out.

When I was 5, I worried if the kids at school, in my Kindergarten class, would speak the same language. Did other people call their couch a sofa or a couch like we did?
I. truly. did. think. that. At. 5. years. old.

I worried and it turned out they actually did speak English or at least the English spoken by 5 year old kids. But it worked.

I worried that they would make fun of how I spoke, how I dressed. One time, same school, my mom actually told me to wear corduroy pants. Corduroys in Public!

I obsessed that all the other kids, fashion critics at 5 years, would all point at me. And laugh. I didn’t sleep the night before.

When I came home from school the next day she asked if the kids said anything about my pants. Not wanting my mom to think she was always right, I told her they did. My success theory was developing.

If I worried about it, then it followed that what I was concerned about happening, would not happen.
This always worked out.

Beginning with this early success, it became easy to to always worry. I imagined the worst would always happen.

My life was great until just around the time I turned 21 or 22, I was treated for an assortment of ailments, all stress related.

Something was definitely wrong. Now, the more I used my theory the worse I felt.
I got the same results, nothing would happened. I just didn’t feel well.

I was forced to acknowledge maybe this wasn’t a good practice to follow.
There was no “A HA!” moment. Just sort of happened.

My bride helped me along. She’d often tell me things like, “why worry about it, it may never happen.”
Turns out she (very) often was right. And then when I listened to her, the worse didn’t happen, and I didn’t get sick.

And eventually, I got it. I understood. I relaxed.
I mean, how often did what I worried about actually happen?
Pretty close to zero percent.
I’m better now. No ulcer either.
Now I’m cool.
Chillaxin.

It’s still a mad mad world.
Now I just laugh.
What, me worry?
Not me.
Peace out.

JT

Oh, I did eventually tell my mom that the kindergarten kids didn’t actually tease me about the corduroy pants. I waited until she turned 75. Figured she was old enough to hear the truth. She acted like she already knew.