Anxiety and I are in a real relationship. We are close. We are like this.
We have a bastard child together, Anxiety and I. Its name is Worry. I carry Worry in a sling with me everywhere I go.
I worry most about my Oldest. I’m not exactly sure why. Sometimes I blame it on the fact that he was 6 1/2 weeks premature. I worry that he wasn’t ready for life and will never recover from being shot into it unprepared. Sometimes I blame myself for being so vigilant with him. Once, when he fell hard asleep, as babies do, I was sure I had killed him. I was sure I had unknowingly snapped his soft neck under my fingers. Sometimes I blame it on the fact he was the youngest kid in his class for most of his life, and always clung on by his fingertips as his classmates moved blithely ahead. Sometimes I just blame him for not grabbing life, for not allowing himself, as James Merrill wrote, “to be lived by life.”
Yesterday, the iChat bubble bounced on my screen. It was Oldest. Here is what he wrote:
ive noticed that the easiest way to stay in the present is to notice everything you can about the present
and try to find beauty in everything.
I think it may be time to untie the sling, set my bastard child down, and walk away.