Confessions of a worry wart
I tend to be a worrier. That’s why my husband routinely shares with me one of his favorite quotes by Dan Zadra: “Worrying is a misuse of your imagination.”
He’s right, of course, but I believe I’m genetically predisposed to be a worry wart. My mother was an incessant worrier, the queen of worst-case scenarios that never actually materialized.
As a high-school sophomore I wrote an entire essay for an English class assignment built around Philippians 4:6, the Bible verse that has been a balm to my soul since childhood: “Have no anxiety about anything, but by prayer and supplication, with Thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.” The subject matter was unusual enough that my teacher pulled me aside and asked if there was some big problem in my life she needed to know about.
The truth is, those sacred words have pulled me through many difficult situations.
So, what am I worrying about right now?
It’s my kids. I recently wrote about how my younger daughter, her husband and their 5-year-old daughter relocated this fall from Idaho to Houston, Texas. Now my older daughter and her husband are moving from Palmer, Alaska, to Juneau, Alaska’s state capital, this month to start new jobs, still in the broadcast news business.
Having both of your children navigate these big relocations during a pandemic has put this worrier on overdrive.
I know they’ll be fine, but that doesn’t always give me peace of mind when I toss and turn at 3 a.m.
Moving in late November in Alaska will be a feat. My daughter will drive her vehicle while her husband drives a U-Haul pulling their other vehicle. They’ll drive north to Tok, then cross the border into Canada and eventually head back into Alaska to reach Haines; after that it’s a six-hour ferry ride from Haines to Juneau, since I’ve been told there are no roads leading in or out of the capital. It’s mind boggling to me.
I fretted about my younger daughter’s trip to Texas as COVID-19 raged across the Midwest. Thankfully her husband, who earlier had driven the moving truck to Houston, was able to fly to the Flathead, where they packed up and headed out in early October. I even worried about their elderly, 12-year-old dog Aikita, who wasn’t doing that great when they left.
“What if Nala dies along the way,” I quietly asked my daughter.
“Mom, get a grip, that’s not going to happen,” she replied.
The latest update is that they’re now nicely settled in a home on a quiet street in the Houston suburb of Sugar Land. (My granddaughter asked along the way: “Are we almost to Candy Land?”) Their homeowners association offers 10 pools and aquatic centers, a dozen parks, tennis courts and free kayak rentals. And my daughter has a new job as the assistant director of a new Montessori school that is opening there.
The moral of this story is that life moves forward, worries or not. And almost always, things turn out just fine. If only I could convince my alter ego — Nervous Nellie.
News Editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or firstname.lastname@example.org.