I worry

I worry a lot and I worry often. It’s like the exercise I’m supposed to do but put aside because, well, I need time to worry about life—always so general, always so specific. Worrying takes up most of my time, a full-time job with not benefits. And because there is always more time to worry, I’m worried about how much I worry.

Worrying is easy, at the beginning at least, before it’s all-consuming. It then becomes necessary. The natural response to uncertainty creates anxiety and finds its way into your regular life, and it disrupts it. When you realized you haven’t eaten a proper meal, with some greens, because it just didn’t seem that important, you worry. Or you worry about still not caring about your diet.

Taking a break seems like a healthy thing to do, right? Except, if you take a break you don’t make progress on those things you’ve been anxious about. So, you go back to worrying.

Netflix, The New York Times, and a Schubert piano sonata are all wonderful ways to relieve your worrying self. But you finish the new season of Narcos, read your healthy dose of David Brooks and Frank Bruni, and listen to the piano come to rest on a G major chord, and you’re back to worrying—if you were lucky enough to forget about it in the first place.

Im okay, I tell myself, and I believe it. I may worry a lot, but it’s just that: worry. I know it’s unhealthy, but it’s the one coping mechanism I have at my disposal. I don’t want it, in case you’re wondering.

When will I stop worrying? I might have to worry about that later.

Knowing

Some people want to know everything. I am one of them.

I wish I had even a basic understanding of chemistry, biology, physics, engineering, calculus and economics. Then, I would also like to have some expertise in symphonic repertoire, chamber music, community development, political science, peace and God.

Perhaps I’ll acquire some solid knowledge in some of these areas, but I don’t think I can do it all, especially with the market’s current demand for specialization. The market changes and demands more and more of people. It pushes for higher specialization but also for a varied set of skills.

And so, we go on and on wanting to know more and never being satisfied. There is always more we can learn. In school, you are expected to gain solid research skills for graduate school. You finish college and you feel like you know only a little more than you did before. What you are really aware of is how much there is you do not know.

You may have more experience and feel like a 21-year-old kid who thinks he can write because he bought a web domain doesn’t know a thing about knowledge.

You may be right. I don’t know a thing. When I begin to think I know something, I am quickly reminded of how little I know. I mess up constantly. I fail quizzes. I neglect people. I forget God.

I don’t know what happens with all the data that enters my mind. Where does it all go? Why do I keep messing up?

Each day I feel like I know less. Things get more complicated and I drown as I realize I don’t have the skills required to survive.

Sometimes I feel like I have no idea about anything. It scares me. Knowledge is power and each day I have less.

Nonetheless, I’m still trying to gain knowledge, constantly reminding myself that it’s now about knowledge for its own sake. That’s futile.

I know two things: God loves me and He has a plan.

If I can remember that all the time, perhaps the moments of hopelessness I experience will begin to appear less often.