In the time it takes to worry…
Cring takes a look at the American tradition of worrying and hurrying from our youth to our grave, and how, if we’re not careful, we lose the youth and can hasten the grave.
TRANSCRIPT
“Honest to God.”
What does that mean? Would it be possible to be dishonest to God? Since He’s all-knowing, isn’t that kind of like a permanent lie-detector test?
Why do we say things like that? Because we want to impress. We want to make it clear that the next thing we say is so truthful that it would even come off honest to God. In other words, if God were standing there–or sitting if He was chillin’–He would listen to what was being said, and He would turn to the room and say, “He’s cool. That fella’s tellin’ the truth.”
In this case it was a lady. One of those gray-haired ladies who walks just a little bit feebly, and comes across needy, and just sweet enough that if you were nice, there might be a cookie in your future.
Here’s what she said: “Honest to God, I know I’m not supposed to worry but I just can’t help myself.”
I found myself nodding in approval. I DID. She was so convincing. But after all, this excuse wouldn’t work for anything else.
“I know I shouldn’t murder but I just can’t help myself…”
“I certainly shouldn’t sell drugs, but golly–they were a good deal and I wanted to help out my friends.”
It was probably the excuse they used to lynch people. Some white guy turned to his friends and said, “I know if you read really deep in the Good Book it says we shouldn’t kill this guy. But I can’t help myself, can you? If we didn’t kill black people, how would we ever test the strength of our rope? There you go! Another reason to do it!”
Worry may be the only thing that we talk about negatively in the subject of our sentence but by the predicate we have twisted it around to seem natural and okay. Things like:
“I know my son is all grown up but still, I can’t sleep at night for fear he’ll hurt himself…”
“I know my money is safe in the bank, but what if there’s another recession? Isn’t that worrisome?”
“I know you love me, but what if you found somebody prettier? It haunts me.”
As human beings, how can we think that something is wrong–even damaging to our psyche–but continue to do it simply because it feels natural to us and makes us seem important.
Buy Now!
Oh, yes, saying you’re worried about something makes people think you’re a deep feeler, a deep thinker, a deep care-er, when really… all you are is a deep creep. Because after all, most worriers, if given the chance to do something positive, would rather sit on the bench and worry. It easier.
I wonder how many German people worried that Hitler might do something to the Jews?
How many Jewish people lost a little sleep worrying about whether Jesus would be safe from crucifixion?
“I’m so worried that I’m going to tell you I’m worried, so you’ll know I’m the worrying kind, and then you’ll know I hold myself in great regard, thinking that my worrying can add up to anything at all.”
You choose to worry. It does not overtake you. You don’t walk around going, “You know, I was really feeling full of faith when all of a sudden, this worry dropped me like a buffalo–threw me to the ground and then I was a mess.”
Nope. You choose to worry–because you often hurry. Hurry and worry go together.
I’m in a hurry so I worry I won’t get there in time. I was in a hurry, so I worried and got into a car accident.
Why do we choose to do this? Why do we worry? Why do we hurry?
Because it’s damn mature. It’s what grown-ups do. Because once we discover that we’re not really allowed to bitch without looking like an idiot, we decide to worry.
Worry is legal bitching.
You don’t have to go into detail and point out each and every piece that upsets you–you can just cover it and smother it with a blanket of, “I’m worried.”
Didn’t we see it when we were children? All the adults around us were always worrying. And hurrying. It was evidence that they were Bible-believing, tax-paying, God-fearing, virile adults.
Maybe some of this worry comes because of a phony saying. The saying is, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”
If you don’t know what that means, it’s the idea that the more you complain, the more you object, the more you worry, the more obnoxious you become, the more likely it is that you’ll be heard, and your cause will be pushed to the front and you’ll be greased up and given the rightful attention you deserve.
Buy Now!
Unfortunately, it works a couple of times. You squeak your wheel and here comes the grease!
But people are not stupid. They just pretend to be. Well, I mean, they don’t make a living at it. If the wheel continues to be noisy–goddamn it, we replace it. They left that out of the saying. “The squeaky wheel gets replaced.” There you go.
People can get so sick of your worry that’s hiding your bitching that they avoid you, and you suddenly find yourself all alone, bitch-worrying the walls.
There’s a new word: bitch-worry. That strange mixture of bitching and worrying that we allow ourselves to do, but could not possibly tolerate in any other person we know.
“Why doesn’t he just shut the hell up?”
“Would somebody put a cork in that woman?”
So listen. You can worry for a while. I don’t know, people might even be sympathetic at first. But eventually the world around you expects you to pull your load without complaining.
Perhaps everything we say for a solid day should be trailed by the phrase, “Without complaining.”
Would you go to the store for me? WITHOUT COMPLAINING.
Would you do this report at work? WITHOUT COMPLAINING.
Would you tell the kids to clean their room? WITHOUT COMPLAINING.
Maybe if we took complaining out of our lives, bitching might get embarrassed and run away, exposing worry for what it is–a conceited piece of self-interest. Conceited because we don’t really plan on doing anything about the problem. Self-interest because we want to make it clear that if we were in charge, the world would be a better place.
Same thing is true with this thing called hurry. You can hurry but other people will have to avoid you because it means you’re always late or always nervous. Or nervously late.
Oh, that’s appealing.
Tell me the truth–once again, “Honest to God!”
Don’t you hate it when somebody walks in a room and says, “I’m sorry I’m late. But you just wouldn’t believe the day I had!”
And then, damn it to hell, it just hangs in the air. You look in the eyes of everyone around you and say, “Don’t ask!”
But somebody feels it’s their duty to say, “Oh, did you have a rough day?”
Now they’re not only late, in a huff and a hurry, but they take over the next hour, telling you everything they’re worried about and telling you it’s not fair.
Since, honest to God, we can’t kill them, we have to explain why we didn’t invite them to the next party. “The invitation got lost.”
“I didn’t have your email address.”
“You looked like you were coming down with…cancer.”
Here’s another thing. You may not consider your worry to be worrisome. Your worry is merely concern.
“I’m concerned about that young girl down the road who’s dating that black boy. I don’t have anything against ‘race mixin,’ I’m just concerned about the children. How will they get along? Don’t some of them come out speckled? I may be ignorant on the subject, but I think they are, too.”
And people who think that way are always fidgety. You may not think of yourself as being in a hurry, but rather, diligent.
“I know I should be more calm, but there’s so much to do and so little time, somebody has to make sure you pick up the tickets, and then you have to get them in the hands of the right people and you have to make sure the hands are clean… Are you kidding me? Of course I’m in a hurry. I have too many jobs because you damn losers can’t do anything.”
So are you listening?
People have opinions about you. Oh, yes. And the reason you’re not sure you agree with what I just said is they make sure they don’t share these opinions with you. They wait until you leave the room, they have someone go out and spy and make sure you’re in your car, leaving, and then they get together and in a huff and a hurry, they worry about whether you, as a son-of-a-bitch, have any chance of ever being with Jesus. They could tell you. That’s what you want them to do, right? “If you’ve got something to say, say it to me.”
So one of the braver members of the group tries that. And you hurry out of the room and don’t talk to anybody for a week, in a big fat puddle of worry.
People have opinions about you because to them, your worry seems more like fretting and your hurry is just downright reckless. Have you ever noticed that some people don’t want to drive with you? Where’d that come from?
Your good buddy wouldn’t loan you his car? Or his lawn mower? He said it was because they were in disrepair. But were they? Or does he think you’re a fretting, reckless fool?
Because your worry and your hurry make your life seem blurry. Nothing about you is in focus. Nothing is clear. Nothing can be counted on.
You know that old saying: “Some place to hang my hat.”
You don’t have such a place. Because your worry and your hurry make your life blurry.
And before you know it, life zips by. It’s over. And you’re left joyless.
How can you have joy when you’re worried?
Joy doesn’t pop up when you’re hurrying.
So, here’s the good news: stop being honest to God and therefore stop trying to make your worry seem noble.
And the better news is, you’re going to find that you don’t need to hurry so much, and people will just downright enjoy being in your presence.
Buy Now!
You must be logged in to post a comment.