Momento Mori... Carpe Diem!

I am Nathan's worried mind. What if she thinks the wrong thing? What if he sees us? What if I get rejected? What if the police get called? What if it sucks? What if I won't like it? I cover his frazzled brain, skewing decision-making and overloading his thoughts with an overabundance of logic and foresight. Useless ponderings, I calculate every possibility and weigh the costs and benefits. My stock market is of enjoyable endeavours and the possible outcomes or consequences. He gambles occasionally, but more often my calculations pour out of his mouth as annoying "what if"s. Laughing, I turn back to my computer to calculate more bad scenarios.

Worry is such a big deal. Why does it so control me? I hop on the merry-go-round of worry and the longer I think, the faster I go. The faster I go, the less fun I have. Finally, I flop to the ground, exhausted from the violent spinning. Where is the fun? Where is my joy?

Now for a qualifier--worry is not the same as good sense. Being sensible definitely pays off, however, worry is like a good sense merry-go-round spun out of control. The Freudian superego accelerates you beyond the realm of logic and reason and into the void of tiresome fretting. At that point, the playground loses its fun and you lie in the mulch, watching the trees spinning above.

As risk-reward analysis goes, I have lost perspective. What constitutes reward for me is not necessarily correlating to my concept of risk. Risk for me ranges from risking my reputation, my image, to risking my grade. Not too heavy. That is where my problem lies--my little box of safety is not rocking the boat, keeping things under control, telling people what they want to hear.

Thinking back on recent breaches of my bubble wrap layers, I put mayonaise on a kid's car handle at school. I'm a terrible person, I know. As I watched him slide his hand into the greasy egg-based condiment, my stomach dropped, and my mind began to run scenarios in which my car was covered in flour, or my windshield was smeared with peanut butter. It was then that I stopped. I kept quiet behind the bush in which I hid. I didn't run in nervous fright, but I sat and savored the joy of rocking the boat.

I am not giving a sublime message for all to unleash the inner miscreant. Vandalism is not the solution. Most days, the remedy to my worry is to relax. I don't need to seek some perfect activity to heal my condition, but I must spend time listening to Papa, remembering all that he has brought me through, and filling my heart with the hope of a life in Him--playing a role in His redemptive story. Life brings joy everday, and it is all about seeing the cold milk in our glass, and savoring our friendships.

Remember you will die... Seize the Day!

nate.