Propensity to Worry

Worry

I have been there before and visit far more often than I want. That place where my natural self has the gifted propensity to get tangled in knots. To go to the worst case scenario. To land in the mud puddle of worry, only to crawl out dripping with anxiety. To end up with a topsy-turvy bag full of unsettled emotions like Sebastian the crab, in Disney’s Little Mermaid when he announced with much drama, “My nerves are shot.”

My latest and greatest—even though sadly it seems to be quite commonplace, although for me was a first-time experience—landed me in the world of cyber-theft. Unaware of what was happening at the time, whether it was online or at a business I visited, somehow, my credit information was lifted allowing some dear person in a different state to live the easy life, enjoying gift cards, pizza, and a tank of gas at no cost to themselves. But on this end when all came to light, uneasiness began to creep into my mind, the what-ifs muddling my thoughts. Continue reading

What Happens When We Give Up Control

What Happens When We Give Up Control

When I was eight years old, my mom, younger sister, and I went to hear my older brother’s high school choir’s Christmas performance where he would be singing a solo. From the first note that came out of his mouth, I was mesmerized, for I had never heard such a rich, wonderful sound. If it were something that could be touched, that beautiful voice I was hearing would be akin to a deep, burgundy velvet. I’ll never forget it. To this day, when I think back on that night, I can still see my brother on the stage—the lights low and the spotlight on him—and can still hear him singing.

So it was no surprise—when we were spring cleaning our home (and my mother had us doing that, on what seemed like a weekly basis)—that as I was caterwauling the tune of the day that was floating through my head while hand buffing the hardwood floors, my brother who was begrudgingly doing the same, in his most loving, sibling way told me, “You sound like a frog. PLEASE stop making that noise.” Wilting like a flower without water, because surely, he would know better than anyone if I had talent or not, I tucked away my dreams of having a beautiful voice like his. End of story. End of singing for me. Forever. Continue reading