Last night – well, actually, this morning – I was wide awake at 2 a.m., wound up tightly within my latest worry: when will I sell the house? I can easily go from when will it sell to what if it doesn't sell to what if nobody wants my house and I'm stuck in less than 5 minutes. I am a highly skilled worrier.
As I worried these worries and did not seem to be getting any closer to getting back to sleep, I must have had a second of clarity that somehow squeezed its way between those worrisome thoughts. In that second, or microsecond, I had a realization: I would have employment for this summer and beyond. That was my last topic of worry that consumed me before the housing crisis – mine, not the nation's – took over my thoughts.
The prospect of not having a job this summer (once my teaching and contract position ended) had been my major concern since, well, since I got the contract position and saw that it ended in June. What would I do? How and where would I find work? How would I survive! And, yet, here I was now, preparing for my new job and not even grateful that this previous sleep-stealing obsession was now no longer a concern, and I had replaced it with another worry, without even allowing a moment for gratitude.
Am I happy worrying? I must be, because I do it so much. I've unnecessarily spent sleepless nights, thinking about things that generally work themselves out. I know that I do need to do some stuff – do the research, make the phone calls, fill out the paperwork. But after that, I need to let go and accept that this latest crisis in my life will be resolved, in time. Hopefully, when that happens this time, I will do two things: I will take the time to be grateful for the resolution; and, I will try not to find another, new focus for my late night thoughts. Maybe then I can get some rest.
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