The Little Book of Letting Go. Hugh Prather
accident. What good would it do to worry about our options, about possible physical consequences, or about what lesson “the universe” is trying to teach us while we are twisting in mid-air to lessen the effects of a fall or struggling to regain control of a car? If we used our mind to worry during an emergency, we would introduce conflict and hesitation into our reactions. We would be unable to respond instantly. Does this mean that worrying might be useful when we are not in an emergency?
Younger Brother
When we were in our late teens, my brother and I were invited to visit a ranch in the mountains of Colorado. One day when we were hiking, we came across a magnificent waterfall almost two hundred feet high. I dared my brother to climb it with me and he accepted the challenge.
Our plan was to climb beside the flow of water, and although we didn't have climbing equipment, the grade seemed mild enough that we didn't think we needed it. As often happens with inexperienced climbers, what doesn't seem steep from below seems impossibly steep once you are on the slope. By the time I saw that this was turning out to be more difficult and dangerous than I had guessed, I realized that it would be even more dangerous to attempt to climb back down.
We were about thirty to forty feet from the top, just below a huge rock outcropping, when it started to hail. Soon the hail turned to rain. I could see no way to the top from my side of the outcropping; ordinarily I would have circled around to my brother's side, but suddenly the shale we were standing on began loosening.
Being the oldest of the two and the one who had made the dare, I was in the lead. As our footing began to wash out from under us, I became worried. The longer I stood there thinking of the disastrous consequence each option before me could bring, the more my muscles tensed up. My brother chose that moment to tell me that he had heard that climbers had died attempting to scale this fall on two occasions. Hearing that, I froze completely. I literally could not move an inch.
Despite my frozen state, I could still talk. I assured my brother that from where I was standing, I could see a way to the top from his side of the outcropping. This was a lie but it was the only thing I could think of that might get us off what was slowly becoming an avalanche. Fortunately, my guess turned out to be right, and when he climbed to the top, he reached down and helped me up.
A natural reaction to this story would be to say that I worried at the wrong time. If I had worried before we started to climb, maybe we wouldn't have gotten ourselves into danger. Clearly a rule such as “Worry before but not during” won't work. That rule would have made me question accepting the invitation to visit the ranch, question the thought of taking a hike in unfamiliar terrain, and so on. Often it isn't even clear what point is the beginning.
When is the right time to worry? Our plan could have been to climb part way up the falls just to see what the view was like. If that had been the thought, should we have applied the rule “before but not during”? Actually, there were several points along the way when it still would have been safe to go back. Should we have worried about finding and acknowledging the exact no-turning-back point? If we agreed that this point had been reached (people seldom agree when to stop), should we have paused and worried then? During the climb, we saw a snake that neither of us had seen before and we inched closer to get a good look. Should we have worried before we started the inching or at the point we stopped to look?
Obviously there is no formula for the right time to worry. Perhaps it could be said that “a little worry” is a good thing. Perhaps it's the amount and not the time that's important. Maybe if I had worried a little we wouldn't have ended up in life-threatening circumstances. Yet the fact that the climb looked worrisome made the thought of doing it exciting. Who would dare someone to climb a wide, gentle slope covered with a thick cushion of grass? If we hadn't been “a little worried,” the climb wouldn't have been a challenge. It seems that I needed to worry more than I did, but how much more? Obviously I worried “too much” when I stood below the outcropping.
The thought that there is an exact amount of worry needed is just something more to worry about. Once again, no formula exists that will indicate the degree of worry needed. The fact is worry begets worry; and neither its time nor degree can be controlled, nor can its effects be foreseen. Worry doesn't work.
Attitude 5: Worrying is a sign of intelligence.
We think that worrying is an intelligent choice made by the individual as opposed to a mass reaction to a collective mindset. Yet worry is the uniting emotion of the world. It can make allies of any groups or individuals. It cuts across religious, political, racial, and sexual differences. News and magazineformat television programs have mass appeal because the viewer can count on a steady diet of new things to worry about. “Investigative reporting” reveals dangers in places we never suspected. Anxiety produces chemical changes that the body grows used to, and addiction to anxiety in its various manifestations is perhaps the most common of all addictions.
Many people think that the question, “What's the worst that can happen?” is a useful line of thought that brings them a certain objectivity and keeps them from overreacting. In our culture, a person free of worry is considered naive. We think that cynicism is a sign of intelligence and practicality. Since disaster overtakes us all, we tend to view peace of mind as an unrealistic or dishonest emotion. Don't all things end, and surprisingly quickly? The strong prey upon the weak until they too are weak and are preyed upon. Everything we see lives off the death of something else.
The conclusion is inescapable. You and I will wither and die like all things, whether planet, person, or plant. The best that can be said about how it all turned out for us personally is that as we died, we suffered less than others. This, then, is the background scenery that only those in denial can keep from noticing. Therefore, we assume that worry is the “aware” emotion, the one that is induced by the facts.
Our choice is simple. We can focus on the “inevitable” facts of life, or we can focus on where we are and what we are doing. When we relax within the situation at hand, whatever it may be, we begin opening up to another reality that our precomposed picture of the future can't show us. Awareness of this reality eventually brings us the experience of the Divine. Worry is always about the future, even if the future is the next moment. Worry blocks awareness of the Divine because the Divine is now. The name of God is “I AM,” not “I WILL BE.” Remaining unconscious of God is not an act of intelligence.
Attitude 6: Worrying is a sign of compassion.
We also think that those who worry are more empathetic and socially responsible. We believe that our angst demonstrates our concern that so many people in the world are suffering. Does worrying connect us to these people? Does it heal anyone? Because anxiety is somewhat unpleasant and tiring, a false sense of accomplishment can ensue. A bout of worrying often gives us the sense that we have done our part, when in fact we have merely spun our mental wheels, or our mouth.
Notice how cut off you feel when you are around someone who is apprehensive. Individuals who worry are, at least for the moment, self-absorbed. The subject of their line of thought may be someone else, but they don't extend love to that person. “I'm worried for you” is typical of the ego's selfcanceling approach to life.
Thanksgiving dinner is often an example of this use of worry. These meals typically begin with a prayer that includes words such as, “Let us remember all those who are starving.” If we were actually to do this, if with each bite we thought of a starving child or a hungry nation, we would eat in enormous conflict. There could be no experience of joining and oneness at such a table. Those gathered there would not feel more connected, more loving, or more generous toward anyone, nor would those who are starving be any better off. Generosity is an act of happiness, not an outgrowth of fear.
No day passes that we don't see before us some reminder of an old or new misfortune that came upon someone unexpectedly. The media loves to spotlight those who have fallen victim, especially to the new danger that the article or program is trumpeting. It's almost unthinkable that we would remain free of fear after hearing and seeing, day after day, the thousands of tragedies that occur to people just