The Worry Gene

At the end of this week, I will fly back east for my grandfather's 90th birthday party, and a few days later, my mom, sister and I will embark on a road trip to Canada.  Approximately three months ago, I awakened at 2 a.m. in a panicked state, worried that I would forget to bring my passport along on this trip.  I then kept myself awake for hours, worrying incessantly about this easily-preventable, probably-won't-happen circumstance.


These prolonged and unwelcome awakenings have occurred several times between that first incident in mid-March and now.  About a month ago, I confessed to my sister that this was going on, and her response was:  "Worrying about forgetting your passport is indeed a good use of your energy."  The reason that my sister can understand this needless, insomnia-causing behavior is the same reason that my mother sent me an email last week with the subject line "PASSPORT! PASSPORT! PASSPORT!"  That reason is that every female member of my family possesses the Worry Gene.

The fact that obsessive worrying has been passed down through generations in my family helps me to feel less like a total weirdo.  For example, for many years I have known that my maternal grandmother sits and watches the national weather reports daily so that she will be able to track potentially devastating storms that may affect her relatives, friends, relatives of friends, or anyone she's ever heard of.  And when I say "potentially devastating storms," think of your average rainstorm, because that's the level of weather disturbance that will cause my grandmother to enter a state of incapacitating anxiety about someone's well being...especially if that person is thinking about driving somewhere.

...because this is what happens if you decide to drive in the rain.

In my family, we realize that, when contemplating the Worry Gene, there's really no need to wonder about the Nature vs. Nurture factor.  All we know is that, when it comes to our anxiety levels, Nature + Nurture = Bad News.  Our heightened sense of general alarm causes us to be very careful to avoid creating anxiety in our fellow Worry Gene carriers, even if that involves lying.  


Here is an example:  a few summers ago, one of the wildfires that was blazing out of control in California came very close to the house where my husband and I were living.  At one point during day two of the fire, I received a phone call from my father.


Dad:  You need to call your grandmother and tell her that you're safe and the fire's nowhere near you.


Me:  But the fire is near us.  I'm looking at it through my window.  There's ash and flaming debris raining down all around us.


Dad:  Oh.  Do you have an evacuation plan?


Me:  Yes.


Dad:  Do you have all of your critical documents?


Me:  Yes.


Dad:  Okay, good.  Now you need to call your grandmother and tell her you're safe and the fire's nowhere near you.


Me:  Okay.


So I proceeded to do just that.  I stood in the yard, breathing in ash-filled air, watching the fire pour down over the mountain behind my house, and informed my grandmother that we were fine and the fire wasn't affecting us at all.  The sound of the relief in her voice was practically palpable.

"Oh, yes, Grandma, we're not even in the evacuation zone..."

Corrie ten Boom has a beautiful quote about worrying:  "Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength."  How wise, logical, and totally not a member of my family she was!  If I had a dollar for every minute of my life I have wasted through the act of worrying, I would be able to make a shitload of super-generous donations.  Local nonprofit organizations would be beside themselves.  


Honestly, it wasn't until I was 25 years old that I realized (through someone else pointing it out) that worrying is optional.  This occurred in the aftermath of my kitty running away.  I told my housemate that I was panicking, and he inquired what I'd done about the situation.  I explained that I'd patrolled the neighborhood, talked to the neighbors, hung up posters, and visited all of the local animal shelters.  He agreed that I'd done what I could, and I informed him that I was still freaking out.  He responded by chiding, in a completely deadpan voice, "Yes.  By all means, worry."  


That really took me aback.  It was not until that very moment that I realized it is not a necessity to collapse oneself into a state of overwhelming anxiety in the face of any real or imagined stressful situation.  That was a good moment.  So good, in fact, that I ended up marrying him.

Thank you, my dear, for saving me from my evil inner workings.

Speaking of my husband, and worrying, here is a final story.  Several years ago, my husband drove me to the airport in a horrible, blinding rainstorm over treacherous, mountain roads.  He dropped me off at about 6 a.m., and then I flew across the country to visit my parents.  When I landed, I tried to call him, but the call went straight to voicemail.  I left a message letting him know I'd arrived safely and asking him to call back.  That evening, having not heard from him, I called again, and again the call went straight to voicemail.


Then the panic set in.  I felt my heartbeat quicken, my skin break out in a cold sweat, and my brain begin to concoct the most horrific scenario possible.  After said scenario was fully constructed, I rushed to my mom in the kitchen, told her about the two calls that had gone to voicemail, and then informed her of the following:


"So here's what I think happened.  The driving conditions were so bad going home that he drove off the road, his car flew off a cliff, and no one can see it from the road.  Our friends don't know he was taking me to the airport, so they won't know he's gone missing.  If the car is found, they won't be able to identify him because he left his wallet at home, so no one will be able to notify me about what happened.  And the cats are going to starve to death in the house because no one realizes he's not coming home!"

Oops...I went crazy.

Instead of running and calling the paramedics, my mother, who fully comprehends the Worry Gene, and has also trained and nurtured it throughout my life, looked at me knowingly, smiled, and said, "Well, my work here is done!"


[In case you're wondering, he was alive.  It turns out that his cell phone had died, and he'd gone to a friend's house to watch football all day and hadn't gotten home to charge the phone until late that night.  When I told him the scenario I'd created about his demise, he was pretty horrified.  People who don't have the Worry Gene just don't get it!  Doesn't he realize that there are countless things that haven't happened, and won't happen, that can be fretted over obsessively?!  Duh.]

Poop On A Plate

A couple of years ago I was playing the game Loaded Questions with my family and the following question was asked:  "What should never be considered art?"  The players wrote down their responses and handed them to my cousin, who then had the distinct honor of reading our answers:

1. Poop on a plate
2. Poop in a jar
3. My midriff
4. Shit

I hope the artist was paid big for this fine example of poop on a plate

The phrase "poop on a plate" has really resonated with me.  In a more global or generalized way, I now think of poop on a plate whenever I am faced with something that I am expected to accept, despite the fact that it is absolutely absurd.  When thought of this way, poop on a plate is a concept much like "the Emperor's new clothes," except that it is way more fun to say.


Right now I'm watching the NBA Finals with my husband.  I very rarely watch television, and whenever I do, I remember why.  However, this experience is giving me an opportunity to view many fine examples of poop on a plate.  Here are a select few:

• Drinking a particular kind of soda will cause models to burst into a spontaneous roller skate dance party all around you
• Certain body sprays will cause hordes of gorgeous women to lose their minds and want nothing more than to fuck you immediately, even if you are the biggest tool on Earth
• Everyone should sincerely give a shit what lycopene is
• "Comfort" is actually a material thing, so the claim "Now Coated With 25% More Comfort" totally makes sense
• There is nothing more exciting to a woman than wiping down a kitchen counter with a super-effective new antibacterial cleaner
• If you are not connected to the internet via some glowing rectangular device at all times, your life is probably not worth living
• Feeding your child food from McDonald's is a really good idea
• Minivans can be cool
• You don't have to be mindful of your overall nutrition or exercise regularly to be healthy; you only have to eat or drink very specific items that will overhaul your whole system.  How awesome is that??

"Pomegranate juice:  An excellent alternative to suicide"

American news media also contains copious examples of poop on a plate.  Cases in point:

• 367 hours of royal wedding coverage
• Endless, relentless pundit jibber jabber
• PTSD-inducing 24/7 coverage of national and international catastrophes.  This usually goes on for about 4 days, and then the event is completely, conveniently forgotten by everyone who doesn't live within 20 miles of the disaster site.
• Rush Limbaugh.  Rush Limbaugh is the embodiment of poop on a  plate.  Sarah Palin is as well.  They are two big, fat plate poops.
• Headlines like:  "Jennifer Lopez Stunning In Red Satin."  Actually, entertainment news as a whole is poop on a plate.  We've all seen countless headlines offering to reveal celebrities' hair, diet, fashion, and exercise "secrets."  You really want to know the secret?  Here it is, folks:  thousands of people are paid millions of dollars to get celebrities to look that way...and then they're airbrushed.  Okay?  Mystery solved.  Jesus Christ.  Anything having to do with celebrity homes, legal problems, "baby bumps," marital issues, or anything else about their lives is also poop on a plate.

I DON'T CARE!

In conclusion, I encourage all of you, as consumers of resources and information, to avoid consuming poop on a plate, because...well, that's just gross.  Just because someone shows you a pile of poop on a plate and tells you it's worth 20 million dollars doesn't mean you have to believe it, much less purchase it.  You should feel free simply to smile sweetly and respond, "You can't fool me.  That's a bunch of crap."

Look - even this guy is laughing at us