The
Art
of
Worrying
Suppose
you
are
a
freshman
in
college,
and
one
of
your
required
classes
is
Intro
to
Public
Speaking.
One
of
the
first
few
assignments
that
your
distinguished
professor
gives
you
is
to
write
a
speech
on
any
topic
you
choose.
Everyone
must
be
ready
to
give
his
or
her
speech
the
week
after.
You
realize
that
in
a
class
about
Public
Speaking,
you
would
be
required
to
do
some
public
speaking.
Yet,
you
gulp
and
your
stomach
is
in
knots
as
you
begin
to
picture
yourself
standing
at
the
front
of
the
classroom,
trying
to
get
out
the
first
words
of
your
speech.
Upon
hearing
about
this
assignment
in
class,
you
begin
to
hyperventilate
and
your
heart
begins
to
palpitate.
Quickly,
you
pull
out
a
paper
bag
and
breathe
into
it,
hoping
that
this
will
help
your
breathing
return
to
normal.
As
the
distinguished
professor
explains
the
assignment,
you
begin
to
tremble.
You
scan
the
classroom
hoping
to
find
someone
with
whom
you
can
find
sympathy.
Every
person
has
a
smile
on
his
face.
How
could
this
be,
you
wonder,
how
could
they
be
so
calm?
As
the
professor
brings
the
class
session
to
an
end,
your
heart
slows
down
and
your
breathing
is
once
again
regulated.
Deep
breath
in
and
deep
breath
out,
you
tell
yourself.
That
night,
you
return
to
your
dorm
room
and
begin
to
imagine
your
Intro
to
Public
Speaking
class
that
will
take
place
a
week
later.
You
lie
in
bed
at
12
a.m.
and
watch
the
time
pass
by.
It
is
1
a.m.
I
can’t
forget
my
manuscript.
What
if
I
forget
my
manuscript?
2
a.m.
What
if
I
say
“um”
and
“uh”
and
“like”
more
than
a
hundred
times
and
the
professor
counts
it?
3
a.m.
What
if
everyone
hates
my
speech
and
“boo”s
me
off
the
podium?
Finally,
you
tell
yourself
that
you
should
get
some
sleep.
A
week
later,
you
sit
in
your
Public
Speaking
class,
and
the
professor
calls
your
name.
Your
heart
beats
faster,
as
you
retrieve
your
manuscript
and
outline
and
make
your
way
to
the
podium.
The
applause
fades
away.
Three
minutes
later,
you
hear
a
loud
applause
again
and
notice
a
standing
ovation.
You
realize
that
you
have
just
finished
giving
your
speech.
With
a
sigh
of
relief
and
a
faint
smile
on
your
face,
you
return
to
your
seat.
This,
dear
friends,
is
a
perfect
example
of
what
it
looks
like
to
worry.
Start
by
imagining
every
single
thing
that
could
possibly
go
wrong
as
you
give
your
speech.
Continue
by
repeating
those
images
and
scenarios
in
your
head.
Allow
your
heart
to
palpitate
and
your
lungs
to
hyperventilate.
As
you
are
trying
to
sleep,
replay
those
disastrous
scenarios
again
until
you
start
to
freak
out
in
your
bed.
Finally,
try
to
sleep,
but
don’t
sleep.
Just
keep
those
scenarios
on
rewind.
This
is
what
it
looks
like
to
worry.
As
my
final
word,
allow
me
to
say,
I
know
that
in
fact
you
know
worrying
all
too
well.
Who
has
not
worried
even
once
in
their
life?
It
is
simply
a
part
of
our
human
nature.
I,
for
one,
am
a
worry-‐er.
When
I
begin
to
worry,
I
remember
that
Jesus
tells
us
in
the
Sermon
on
the
Mount
that
not
one
of
us
can
add
a
single
hour
to
our
lives
by
worrying
(Matt.
7:27).
So
friends,
do
not
worry.
In
fact,
in
the
words
of
Paul,
“Do
not
be
anxious
about
anything,
but
in
prayer
and
petition,
with
thanksgiving,
present
your
requests
to
God.
And
the
peace
of
God,
which
transcends
all
understanding
will
guard
your
hearts
and
your
minds
in
Christ
Jesus”
(Phil.
4:6-‐7).