anx·i·e·ty
aNGˈzīədē/
noun
1. a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.
2. desire to do something, typically accompanied by unease.
3. a major character in the story of my life
Let me not lie; I get anxious all the time. I am a worrier, plain and simple. (Actually, maybe not so plain and simple.) I do not enjoy worrying. I wish I could change it – I try, I mean I take deep breaths and all that good stuff. But [sigh] worrying just so happens to be one of my vices. The things about which I worry come in all shapes and sizes: some are small, insignificant details that in retrospect, really do not deserve any of my thought space. Others are big issues, issues that go hand in hand with life’s biggest questions. Issues for which no average human being has the right answers. Issues over which I have absolutely no control whatsoever. So why am I worrying again? Don’t ask me.
A classmate once told me, “You know, your problem is that you think way too much about all the work you have to do instead of just doing it.” I have come to understand that she was absolutely right. I spend too much time worrying every waking hour, trying to plan out how to complete all the tasks ahead instead of cutting straight to the chase. As a matter of fact, while half of my brain is slowly getting my fingers to type these words, the other half is worrying about exactly how I will phrase the rest of my blog post. (Well, probably not a whole half of my brain because, you know, I’m thinking seven billion other thoughts right now. So, more like a fragment of my brain.)
aNGˈzīədē/
noun
1. a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.
2. desire to do something, typically accompanied by unease.
3. a major character in the story of my life
Let me not lie; I get anxious all the time. I am a worrier, plain and simple. (Actually, maybe not so plain and simple.) I do not enjoy worrying. I wish I could change it – I try, I mean I take deep breaths and all that good stuff. But [sigh] worrying just so happens to be one of my vices. The things about which I worry come in all shapes and sizes: some are small, insignificant details that in retrospect, really do not deserve any of my thought space. Others are big issues, issues that go hand in hand with life’s biggest questions. Issues for which no average human being has the right answers. Issues over which I have absolutely no control whatsoever. So why am I worrying again? Don’t ask me.
A classmate once told me, “You know, your problem is that you think way too much about all the work you have to do instead of just doing it.” I have come to understand that she was absolutely right. I spend too much time worrying every waking hour, trying to plan out how to complete all the tasks ahead instead of cutting straight to the chase. As a matter of fact, while half of my brain is slowly getting my fingers to type these words, the other half is worrying about exactly how I will phrase the rest of my blog post. (Well, probably not a whole half of my brain because, you know, I’m thinking seven billion other thoughts right now. So, more like a fragment of my brain.)