“Hello, Worry, my old friend.,.”

This phrase should really be quietly floating from my lips nearly everyday.

When I was a kid I would say I was “worried” all the time. From age nine on. I worried about many things.

Now as an adult I’m pretty clear that worry was anxiety, rooted deep within and having its way with me.

Worry, my old friend.

I see the much of the world, much of the time, through the clouded yellow lenses of worry, of anxiety. She’s a strange bedfellow.

All at once I’m frozen by a cascade of piling thoughts. So much to do! I had not one but two very different anxiety dreams in the same night recently! Ugh.

And then usually, nearly as suddenly, that pile of thoughts and demands chrysalises into a clear to-do list…and then worry recedes…until the next time.

Until the next time. After all these years you’d think I’d be well-versed coping with my old friend. Somehow tho’, it’s still a challenge.

Worry, my old friend, who I still bump along with. Bump along, bump along.