Not to worry,” the mechanic said as I dropped off my car. “It’ll be ready by 3 o’clock. If not, we’ll give you a loaner for the night.”
Perfect, I thought. One way or another, I’ll have a car to drive to the appointment.
But when I returned at 3 p.m., things hadn’t gone quite as planned. Work on my car was taking longer than expected, and there were now two mechanics busily trying to meet the deadline. The loaner car, meanwhile, was still out from the night before. It was due back at noon; it was now three hours late.
While the mechanic apologized up and down, the problem remained that I was about to miss an appointment I had waited two months to get. I could hope that the loaner car would materialize soon, and perhaps I could make the appointment ”“ just barely. Or I could simply cancel the appointment and reschedule for another time.
I opted for the latter.
This scenario, in which plans are foiled by the most ordinary of mishaps, takes place all the time. And even the back-up ”“ the loaner car ”“ doesn’t always come through. As we weave our way through the various options to salvage our plans, we underrate a critical factor: Behind the logic and problem-solving, under the facts at hand, is the mind’s machinery doing its insidious work: worrying.
These are not calm or care-free ruminations, these sudden, last-minute changes; often they come with an overlay of concern, anxiety, even panic. It depends upon the circumstance and the way each of us is made. A flat tire, a storm warning, an illness in the family ”“ any of them can set us on a course of worrying.
Truth is, worrying is arguably one of the least clever things we do. We can go round and round in our minds with anxiety, without ever actually thinking about the problem or its possible solutions.
What other animal would be so foolish as to fritter away its time and energy in this way?
Only humans are freed from having to forage constantly for food and shelter. Instead we worry, which may be a kind of foraging, after all. It’s foraging in the mind’s warehouse for a clue, avenue or detour that may solve the problem at hand.
When the mechanic told me not to worry, he was really asking for my trust.
“Have confidence,” he might have said, or even, “have faith.” The underlying message that worrying is fruitless is essentially right. There’s no point to worrying until there becomes a point ”“ such as when the car is perched high on the lift, and the loaner has yet to appear. That’s when it’s time to worry: When there’s an actual problem to solve, not just the anticipation of one.
None of which makes even a dent in our tendency to worry idly, just the same.
— Joan Silverman writes op-eds, essays and book reviews for numerous publications. This article appeared earlier, in slightly different form, in Boston’s MetroWest Daily News.
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