Anxiety, my old friend
I worry about quite a bit.
The end of the world, for starters, and its corollary, the not-end of the world and the worry that we will not be able to adequately care for its inhabitants, which will, of course, bring about the end of the world.
I worry about whether I will make it to the airport in time for the plane—this, no matter how early we leave to arrive there. (Which, as a point of reference, is always so that I will arrive at the airport a good two hours before the plane’s scheduled departure.)
I worry that I do not love The BF enough, and sometimes (more often, I’m ashamed to say), that he does not love me enough and always that I will outlive him (and everyone else I love—last one on the planet, don’t forget to turn out the lights). I worry about that one mole on my arm, and that it’s been overly long since I’ve been to the dermatologist, and that when I do finally go I’ll hear that because I’ve waited so long my entire arm will have to be amputated.
I worry that I don’t read enough anymore, and that my critical thinking skills are deteriorating. I worry that I read too much of the same sorts of stuff—marketing and creativity and happiness-related materials—and that I am turning into a cheesehead denizen of the Idiocracy who knows only made-up and strung together half-bits of history.
I worry that I am writing too much, and that it affects the quality of my output. (Note: this replaces my previous worry, that I was writing too little to make any sort of gain in skill, much less impact on the world.) I worry that I left the door unlocked, the candle burning and the iron on—this, despite the hard reality that I have not pressed a thing since at least 2007.
And last week, I worried that I was a sham and a fraud, that I would do a horrible job presenting my little segment during what I was sure would be a stellar workshop by the brilliant Pam Slim (note: it was and she is), and that everyone would hate me.
According to Pam—or to her coach, Martha Beck, whom she was quoting—anxiety is totally normal. It is a normal thing to experience some level of HOLY CHRIST when undertaking a new endeavor. I suppose in this way it is like the little bit of butterfly action one can get in one’s tummy before even the 347th time one heads out onto the stage to play one’s part for the evening: if we are really and truly in the moment, everything is always at least a little bit new and certainly live, and with that set of circumstances, shit can happen.
It’s okay. I’m okay, and the workshop was great. We all had fun—far more than many of us suspected (especially those of us who have developed the neat trick of showing up to the party expecting to have a bad time, that we might be pleasantly surprised).
I think that I will become really nervous when I stop being nervous at all. It is those moments where I have felt nothing or even dread because I am all too familiar with something that scare me now.
Keep reaching, just a little bit, until you feel the anxiety. Even if it is just a frisson of thrill. Reach reach reach.
The world, she is in your hands…
xxx
c
Image by RBerteig via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.
TOPICS: fear.
15 Comments, Comment or Ping
Fionnuala
This topic presents some really difficult knots to unravel. I am a worrier too, from a family of tremendous worriers; I do my best to think of it as a useful attribute most of the time – my organisational skills are great because I plan my way round potential causes of worry, for instance – but I know it has to be kept in check to be useful. Right now it’s not being at all helpful to me, but is actually causing me distress, and that’s because I’m not managing to keep it in balance. I’m currently working as a temp in various offices, and each time I am about to begin a new post – at the moment, every week or every other week – I freak out a little bit. This in spite of the fact that all my placements since beginning temping a couple of months ago have been absolutely fine. How should I strike a balance? I don’t want to get complacent (I want to get myself a good reference and maybe even make a few useful contacts this summer and so I really want to show off my best face in each office) but I’d like to get a little more blasé about walking into a new environment and at some point during my time there making a few (entirely forgivable, understandable) mistakes.
Jul 20th, 2009
Andrew
A lot of my worrying is after the fact – Did I handle that right? Did I say the right thing? Did they take that the wrong way?
I’m reading Pamela Slim’s book “Escape from Cubicle Nation” and it is excellent.
Jul 20th, 2009
Doug Spak
Damn…I was really worried about what I would write!
I recently (three weeks ago) left the agency business after a 30 year run. I held on much longer than I should have because I worried about things like feeding my family, taking nice vacations and paying for my dry cleaning. The mid-sized agency for which I worked the past three years is in danger of being shuttered so when faced with the prospect of downsizing my department one more time, I simply suggested that they sacrifice me to the economic Gods. Stupid? Perhaps. Freeing? Beyond my wildest imagination.
Now, I worry about what to do next. After 30 years of 9AM structure, I worry about what I need to do to start my day. Should I focus all my energy on “creating work” or exploring my creative energies. I have moments of paralyzing fear surrounding my ability to “earn a living.” I worry about how others will perceive my efforts…as if I should care.
So, your post was very timely as I completely understand the paradoxical worries that beset us thinking folk. The one thing I spend more energy on than anything is learning how to “get out of my own way” and let the Universe (or God, if you will) show me the way. I can’t think my way to success, happiness or non-worry. I accept that the God has a bigger plan for me than I could ever imagine. I try to use this acceptance as a worry-reducer. I can’t say it is a full-proof strategy, but it does work on occasion.
Best,
doug
Jul 20th, 2009
Sarah Bray
Are you in my head, Colleen? Seriously now. I’ve been worrying since…forever. I inherited it from my late mamaw Lula, and it sucks. I hate it.
Although…I do attribute my “success” entirely to fear and anxiety. If you’re running from *something*, at least you’re running and you’re getting somewhere, right? Right?
Jul 20th, 2009
Colleen Wainwright
Fionnuala (& Sarah) – I hear you. And, as Sarah said only half-jokingly (I think—hard to discern sometimes on the internet), anxiety serves its purpose well, where its purpose is helping one to get ahead, spurring one on to greater heights, etc. It’s probably *better* used as an indicator, but oh, well.
I think that my first shrink-slash-astrologer would urge me to do what I needed to so that I could get down with it, so that I could recognize it as an “Oh, yeah—there’s that thing again” and not let it get the best of me. So perhaps a little bit more attention paid to the anxiety, in a looking way, and then looking away or moving on. That whole “put the puppy on the mat” thing.
Andrew – Yeah, I get that, too. For me it comes from need for external approval. Again, when I acknowledge that need, pay it a little mind, pat it on the head, etc., I can move on.
And I’m glad you’re enjoying Pam’s book. It’s such a good one!
Doug – I’m sorry to hear about your job. It’s crazy times all over, but yeah, the ad game has been hit especially hard. And it doesn’t really matter that we kinda-sorta knew it was gonna happen: it’s still hard, letting go of the thing you know.
Sounds like you have a good handle on it. I guess the God thing is kind of like the general, non-God, making peace with it thing. I think there are many of us for whom getting out of our own way presents a lifetime of learning opportunities. Ah, well. There are worse things, right?
Jul 20th, 2009
Andrew
Doug –
I recently made the same decision as you did at the company where I’d been for the past few years. There were a lot of events that built up to it but essentially, I didn’t see any hope for rescuing the situation and didn’t want to spend any more of my life that way. I felt like I was wasting my potential in exchange for the illusion of security and that to stay would represent more cowardice than wisdom.
I think you hinted at one of my fears and that’s what to do without the structure that comes from a full-time position. All I can say is that I decided to keep to the same schedule I had when I was at the company (although the day doesn’t end at 5:00 anymore) and to pay attention to how I manage that time. I don’t say “when I was working” because I’m still working, hopefully longer and harder than when I had the option of coming home at the end of the day and crashing. I’m more aware now of how valuable my time is.
I know from experience that it’s hard to decide what to do with your time. It’s easy to get the deer-in-the-headlights feeling when you’re deciding between searching for immediate work and sharpening your skills. I’d offer the thought that sometimes exploring your creative goals can help you to find the work you’re looking for, especially if you do it online where potential employers or clients can see the results. It can be much more productive than the hamster wheel of resumes and follow-up calls. I was recruited for the position I just left from an online resume, probably on the website I maintain. The site content demonstrated my skills, creating it kept them sharp. I still get occasional inquiries because of the site.
Getting past other people’s opinions, real and perceived, is also an important step.
I wish you the best.
Andrew
Jul 20th, 2009
EJ
I quit worrying when I realized that I don’t really matter in the bigger picture.
As far as the end of the world goes there’s lots of constructive work to be done to help our planet. If you get busy it leaves less time for worry.
In my small life I go with: deal with it, change it, get over it, or leave it.
Jul 20th, 2009
LPC
I have found it helpful to realize, simply, that some of us are born with more nerve endings than others. Breathe deeply. The anxiety might dissipate and in place comes the ability to perceive quite acutely.
Jul 20th, 2009
Pamela Slim
Ah worry, my long lost friend!
I totally get the worry bug and used to be more consumed with it. That is my Mom’s special forte (said with an accent on the “e”). She worries about what is/what was and what will be.
I have managed my own worry willies with two things in particular: really focusing on the present (I am here, alive, the sky is blue, the sun is pretty amazing, my kids smell sweet) and not running away from the feeling of fear. It is not some horrible to be smashed through or shameful thing — fear is just doing his/her job of trying to protect you from harm.
As for your workshop, HOLY SHIT SISTER (said with glee as I swear on your blog even while encouraging you not to swear to my mixed group of radical nudists and conservative grandparents). You are SO goddamn funny and smart and wonderful and you have glorious design (I have total PowerPoint envy) and if this weren’t enough you have a wonderfully compassionate heart.
If you take the time each day to bask for a bit in the awesomeness that is you, you may start to feel a little less worried each day.
Here is to quaking in your boots with fear, doing it anyway and rocking the house.
:)
-P
Jul 20th, 2009
Kare Anderson
Gavin deBecker’s insights re women and worry (vs. fear) were really helpful to me in his book The Gift of Fear. I wrote about it, inspired by you Colleen and this most comforting post.
Jul 20th, 2009
LIJ
Such a complex topic!
I worry that my worry and anxiety are just self-indulgent forms of a grown-up temper tantrum, which leads to anxiety about the strength of my character, which creates worry about my potential for any real spiritual growth, and on and on…
Minor anxiety when taking a risk is good, I think you are all right, it means you are challenging the comfort zone and making yourself vulnerable in some way. No one goes anywhere without being a bit exposed on some level.
As a former panic attack person, I’ve found the most freeing thing in the world are those horrible times when I’ve had bad cosmic juju and it seems everything falls apart at once, from every direction. You get to the point where the 20th catastrophe plops in and you just start laughing and asking “okay, what next” and realize you are still here and still will be, no matter what. Stuff passes.
Hard to remember on a day to day basis though.
Jul 20th, 2009
Colleen Wainwright
Andrew – Thank you so much for your kind extension of information! It’s been so long since I bailed, my own experiences with transitioning from corporate culture are all but useless. This was so generous and thoughtful of you.
EJ – You’re right, of course. What does it matter, really, and how hubristic (is that even a word? spellcheck sez “no”) is it to fret?
I try to keep busy, but the one goddamn area I seem to be able to multitask in is this. Dammit!
LPC – Breathe deeply…and eat guacamole from a Revere bowl handed down over generations. I’m there when you say the word.
Queen Pam – I thank you. It was an honor to be your humble footservant for the day. I will try to smell me some babies’ heads. WHO’S GOT A BABY’S HEAD I CAN SMELL!?!
Kare – Yes! That is a wonderful book. I read most of it standing up in the bookstore. Your post (and comment) made me want to go back and read the rest.
LIJ – The first wave is involuntary; subsequent waves are probably self-indulgent.
I’m trying to live in the land of wee anxiety happily, b/c of what you & Martha Beck & Queen Pam Slim say: it’s a sign that I am stretching past my comfort zone. The rest can probably be handled with better sleep habits. I’m still bad about giving myself ample room.
Jul 20th, 2009
Sarah Farrell
Colleen,
I have been lurking on your blog for several months now, and I finally signed up for your newsletter over the weekend, but I’m pretty sure this is the first time that I have been able to push past my own anxiety enough to leave a comment. You see, I love your writing, and I identify with so much of what you write, but as a writer myself, I feel that I always have to say something smart and/or clever when I write – especially when responding to a smart, clever writer whose work I admire. I often find that my responses to your posts come from such a gut level that I have a hard time translating them into words, even though words are my primary and preferred mode of communication.
That said, my responses to this post were many, but I wanted to share the following with you:
1. I’m a worrier too! If I ever thought I was alone, I was reminded and reassured that I am not by both your post and the comments. I think this is one of the biggest benefits of the internet in general, but I am particularly impressed by the way you lay out your issues with such honesty and humor that we can’t help recognizing ourselves in your stories.
2. I share many of your specific worries, especially the one about outliving my husband, who actually attended the Chicago seminar last week – he’s the one who is starting the travel service for small bands. I currently worry that I write too little, and it made me laugh to realize that perhaps I might eventually reach a place where I worry that I write too much.
3. For all of the great things I have heard about Pam Slim, I wanted to attend the Chicago seminar myself just to see and hear YOU in person. (So how could you be a sham or a fraud? I like to think that I am a person of extraordinary quality and good sense, even though I’ve never been one of the “cool kids.” ;)) I am barely beginning to consider the possibility of starting my own business, and I wouldn’t dream of leaving my regular job until my husband’s business is on firmer footing, but I was drawn to the seminar anyway because of your participation – because I felt like you might say something that I needed to hear, the way you do almost every day on your blog. But my husband needed to hear those things even more than I did – and I think he got a lot out of it, not least the realization that he is not alone!
So. Thank you for sharing your journey with us in such a compelling way. There aren’t many writers who can capture both the struggle and the moments of overcoming it and feel genuine in both efforts. And now that I’ve gotten the comment monkey off my back, I hope to be able to respond to your always-thoughtful posts more regularly. Can I think of blog comments as part of my communications gym? ;)
Sarah
p.s. Do you know the song “Worrier King” by Warren Zevon? All worriers should have that in their music arsenal.
Jul 21st, 2009
ps pirro
Okay, after reading Pam’s comment I have Colleen-workshop envy (I have Pam-workshop envy, too, even tho I escaped my cubicle a long time ago.)
Love this:
“…if we are really and truly in the moment, everything is always at least a little bit new…”
Yes yes yes.
Jul 21st, 2009
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