I worry about appearing frivolous or insensitive to my blog readers, especially those with real problems. A friend, whose daughter has cystic fibrosis, once told me, “When they find a cure for CF, I’ll worry about world peace.” Another friend calls the things I worry about “white girl worries.”
Seven years ago a 200-year-old poplar tree fell on my house, causing damage that took a year to repair. I said to my psychotherapist, “How can I complain, given that we’re safe, while our family friends just lost their son in a car crash?” He responded with the shrink party line, “You’re entitled to your worries.” Entitled? Perhaps. But who can deny that there is a hierarchy of worry-worthiness?
I can’t recall a time that I did not think like a worrywart. As Queen Isabella in the third grade play, the only way I could keep from giggling was to picture my mother dead, something I worried about a lot (she’s now 91). So when I attended a lecture by positive psychologist and author of Happier, Tal Ben-Shahar, otherwise known as the Harvard Happiness Professor, I asked whether people like me are wired to worry. “Yes,” he answered, with no hint of optimism that my brain can be rewired.
Which brings me back to my blog. During my plump years of young motherhood, I wrote a diet tips article (never published) and in the process lost 12 pounds. Now, by examining the imagined fearsome scenarios that pop into my head, maybe I can shed some worry weight, as well as provide commiseration for fellow worrywarts. Others who read my posts may be inspired to give thanks for being non-worrywarts.
[...] “White Girl Worries” [...]
[...] different. He’s writing to help people in Chad and Sudan, and my blog is a platform for my white girl worries, which I mentioned when I gave him my card. As for religion, he’s a believer and I get [...]
[...] MY KINDLE By susan fishman orlins Losing a Kindle or an iPad, it could happen to you (White Girl Worry alert) . . [...]
[...] Any other suggestions for coping with these kinds of white girl worries? [...]
[...] He says he remembers me as happy-go-lucky; I respond that’s true, but I’ve always been wired to worry. [...]
[...] don’t know what is wrong, except that the pain seems to be coming from his neck. The rest are White Girl Worries. My mind can never rest, because I’m always ruminating about what to write on the 5 or 6 [...]
Here’s one of the things I worry about: Whether I will be able to decipher that impossible word or words that you have to copy in order to get on an email list. They are usually not actual words, just random collections of letters and if you can’t read them and copy you are banned from buying theatre tickets or getting on Susan’s blog list.
Jane Bressler