Mrs. Teabody says, "Worrying is a Choice"





Yesterday was a bad day at Chez Teabody because I let worry get the best of me. Allowing that first insidious worry point to enter your psyche sets thought processes in motion that once begun are very hard to derail. Imagine yourself driving along the Pennsylvania Turnpike with the highway almost to yourself and not a cloud in the sky. Beautiful day for a drive. Then suddenly “work ahead” signs start appearing. In less time than it takes to say “Where's the nearest exit?” the median turns into a collection point for a dozen pieces of heavy equipment all in motion. Before you know it, your previously unimpeded four lanes have narrowed to a cattle shoot and you're “shooting” along in your fragile metal bullet between two concrete barriers practically touching the sides of your car with an eighteen wheeler up your backside. He's blowing his horn and a quick glance in the rearview mirror reveals a sharp intentional movement of something that looks remarkably like a middle finger. Pour moi? Pour moi? Alas! The only option is fast and forward and you just have to ride it out. That is the nature of worry - - the act of fretting over something that may or may not happen.

Most of the things you worry about never happen.


What cloud colored Mrs. Teabody's sky? Mr. Teabody was away on yet another help-some-friends-move-from-Washington-D.C. lark involving early hours, a huge truck, manual labor and a whole lotta time. All of yesterday. All. Now this MUST be understood: Mr. Teabody is a GREAT, SMART, COMPETENT driver - - probably the best Mrs. Teabody has ever encountered. Truly. Yes, he drives too fast. Yes, he takes a lot of chances. Yes, I have been with him when our car has gone airborne negotiating a sharp left turn. But the man can stick a landing and when he goes I can assure you with every fibre of my being, he won't go driving a U-Haul.

“Well, I'm worried I may find a four leaf clover

Lord knows I can't sleep if nothing's wrong

I'm worried that my troubles might be over

Takes a worried man to sing a worried song.” -Joe Walsh


So why worry? Perhaps like Mrs. Teabody you fret, you ponder, you let dark thoughts fester and grow until you are bouncing against the walls like a superball, trying to assuage the feelings of doom with recorded episodes of Ina Garten, too many Klondike bars or a mad fit of ironing. Another hour passes but it does not pass quickly enough. Grim imaginings are stronger than the fortresses you construct which collapse like a house of cards as time passes and still no word.  Darkness. 

I become aware of myself sitting absolutely still, immobilized by my fear of something that has not happened and probably won't happen. Is this how a rational human being behaves? No, it is not.
The sphere of fear I have made for myself is mine to un-do. I say a little prayer for resolve. I need to change my mood. A nice cuppa. Some good music. I have this. Yesterday I learned that in pop music everyone and his uncle has advice when it comes to worrying. Everyone from Ella to Emo recognizes this very human condition. In the time it takes to type the words "Stevie Wonder worry"  I was  sitting already marginally happier and less fretful while Stevie Wonder sang to me in his inimitably lyrical way: "Don't you worry 'bout a thinginginginginginginging"  and I believed him. Completely. The strong rhythms in his song inspire movement. Get up outta that chair!  The super ball is bouncing again but it is a controlled bounce now. After that it is a natural progression to the  best anti-worry song of all time and modern technology soon had Bobby McFerrren whistling my troubles away. Here he is if and when you need him.

I was okay after that. I counted my blessings, put fresh sheets on the bed, organized the closet, ate some watermelon and thought about how wonderful life really is, how easy our lives are here in America, how very lucky I am to be on this green planet called Earth in this building called home. Along about midnight I heard the roar of  his car on the hill; my eyes filled with tears. I breathed deeply and deliberately.  And I whispered to the heaven that hears my prayers: "Thank You."





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