Worry

Monday morning before sunrise. I have been awake for an hour ish. I try to distract myself by reading. Substack subscriptions. An ebook from the library. I can't focus.

I could list all the things I am worried about here but I feel like the things themselves don't matter.

I worry.

I grew up with a mother who always worried. Her cascades of what ifs piled up, took up all the energy of the house, made me feel like there was no point in doing anything.

I would like to be a person who doesn't worry. I believe in planning. I am a good planner. But my planning comes from a place of worry. A need to control in the face of uncertainty.

I grew up in an environment where my father was constantly losing his job. Our financial circumstances were always changing. When he had work, we lived in good accommodations. When he didn't, we moved to crummy apartments and townhouses in sketchy neighborhoods. Even now, the sight of cardboard boxes make me uneasy.

I worry. Others don't worry like me. So they don't plan. They don't respond to my attempts to plan.

This morning I would like not to worry. I feel like my attempts at planning are like Sisyphus’ attempts to roll a rock up a hill. What if I just stop planning and let whatever happens happen? Surrender. It won't ease my worries. But I'm not sure what will.