Abe F. March

Everyone has worried about something at onetime or another, and many worry every day.   

I found that many things I worried aboutwere self-manufactured.  I wanted amethod to deal with worries, so when I found myself worrying, I would ask: Isthis worry real or imagined? 

If imagined, I stopped worrying about it.If the worry was real, I then questioned if there was something I could doabout it now.  If I could, I did it andthere was no longer reason to worry.  Ifit was something that could not be handled right away, I asked myself when itcould be handled and made a note on a “To Do” list with a specific date.  If it was something completely out of mycontrol, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it now or in thefuture, I pushed it out of my mind.

We know that we are all going to die.  When or where that will happen we don’tknow, unless we decide to end it ourselves - definitely not recommended.  Considering all the things that cause us toworry, I asked myself, what if I dropped dead tomorrow?  What would happen to all the things I worryabout?  Would someone else step in andhandle it?  Would the things I worriedabout be of concern to anyone else?  Inany case, my worrying days would be over.

I decided to do an experiment.

When something caused me to worry I wouldwrite it down on a “Worry List.”  Forthe sake of creating at least one such worry list, I finally did it.  I took my list and jumped in my car.  I wanted someplace quiet where I could worryundisturbed, so I went to the cemetery. It was beautifully maintained with live plants as in a flower garden,and peaceful. I realized that the beauty was for the benefit of the visitor,not the dearly departed.  I found abench under a shade tree and took out my worry list. I planned to start withnumber one on my list, worry about that, and then continue until I had worriedabout everything listed. Most often I discovered how foolish my worry was andthe act of writing it down was just plain stupid.

The headstone directly in front of me,however, got my attention.  I noted thename of the deceased, his date of birth and death. Next to his name was thename of his wife who died three years later. I wondered what kind of life they had had.  Did they love each other? Did they quarrel? I wondered what kind of worries they had during theirlifetime before their worrying days were over.

By the time I looked at several headstoneswondering what kind of people they were, how they may have struggled to live orjust survive, I got up and left.  On theway out of the cemetery I tore up my worry list and dropped it into thetrashcan.  I wondered what would happenwhen I became a memory. What would people remember about me?  Did I make a difference in their life?  Did I contribute to society?  Would there be a record of my life that wasworthy?

When I got home, I went to the bookshelfand picked up my first published book. As I leafed through the pages, I thought about my travels, the people Imet and the many spoken words.  I knewthat my words would be forgotten, but what I had written would remain. I ampleased to be an author and hope that what I write will be meaningful tosomeone.  As for worrying, unless I cando something about it, why bother?