When I was in fourth grade, my teacher, Miss Brown, sent home a report card that said, “Suzanne seems excessively worried.” In fact, I’ve been worrying more or less ever since.

Why, I cannot tell you, for we all know that worry generates nothing but bad mental mojo and stress in our bodies. For me, that has shown up as tooth grinding, jaw clenching (requiring years of orthodontics), tense shoulders and even gut trouble at times. I’ve only learned to control it through regular meditation, journaling, a little prayer, supportive others and yoga.

But can I truly give up worrying? Well, not entirely most likely. Because I realize now, it’s a state of being… one I freely chose for most of my life. I’ve swum in an endless sea of worry like a fish in a slightly cloudy tank, unaware of my mental gunk.

Strangely, worrying has made me feel safe. As if thinking ahead in anticipation of dire events will somehow protect me from such moments, should they ever occur.

For instance, I KNOW without question what I’ll do the minute a major earthquake strikes my home in the Bay Area. And I know what I’ll do if other bad things, like financial loss, major illness or wildfires beset me. But really… such exercises are academic.

For when the bottom truly drops out, like it did when my daughter Teal suddenly died in 2012, all the worry in the world couldn’t protect me from the fallout.

This is the illusion of worry—that thinking ahead keeps us safe and immune to pain.

I’ve come to realize that life actually is pain, in part. And perhaps that is the point.

I never worried about losing my daughter because it never crossed my mind it could happen. That was just too heinous. Too wrong. What I know now is that her death was the fulcrum point on which my life rests. For it seems only since then have I truly evolved.

When Teal died, I suddenly saw my life starkly. I realized I’d completely lost track of my values. I’d been living without key things like integrity and compassion for far too long. In short, I woke up.

So I devoted myself to honoring Teal’s legacy through service… through my blog posts, my books, my podcast, in which I gently speak to my listeners, spreading love and healing where I can.

I do my best to live up to an invitation from Teal herself, which I received in a letter from her six months before her death. She said we were meant to be “leaders in light” together in this lifetime, and she offered me her full support. Little did I know that we would indeed do just that. Or that I’d walk this path alone—yet fully in sync with her disembodied spirit.

As I’ve traveled this path of light leadership day by day, I’ve noticed something extraordinary. When I trust it—and even when I don’t—the path has taken care of me. Completely. In spite of my tendency to worry.

A regular income writing fiction showed up unbidden when I had no idea how I would earn money after Teal’s death. This year another offer came unbidden from a prominent museum, to write the comprehensive biography of my father, the artist John Falter.

This is joyful work for which I’m uniquely qualified as not only his daughter, but a writer with a degree in art history. Who knew this would materialize? And yet it did.

As for my podcast, listeners have continued to pour in even though I’ve done little to court them. What I’ve mainly focussed on in all of these projects is heading for the joy–the light, which is just ahead. I’ve done this largely by refusing to buy into my worries. And yeah, dialing back on the worry-laden media that surrounds us helps. Of course, they’re still there, buzzing in the background, but I simply don’t listen as closely.

Recently, I released a podcast about filling your head with positive affirmations with an expert who has built her own highly successful podcast doing just this. Who knew our thoughts were actually so powerful? Ah, but they are.

So if you have a lifelong habit of worry, may I suggest you gently remind yourself each time a worry presents itself that you are at choice here.

You can go with the worry… or you can head for the light. It’s a habit, a muscle that builds over time.

May you enjoy some worry-free peace of mind… for this is where the sweet beating heart of life is. In total and complete joy.

Embrace it, my friend.

 

 

 

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