By Abby Seixas
“Worry often gives a small thing a big shadow.” ~ Swedish proverb
I’m a worrier by nature, and I come by it honestly. My mother was afraid to cross bridges, and ride in elevators, boats, and airplanes. Her mother died of cancer at the age of 40, and my mother spent many years —including those of my childhood —thinking every sniffle, fever, or headache might be the start of something fatal.
Although I didn’t realize it at the time, growing up with a steady dose of anxiety, like an invisible intravenous drip, had its effect on my developing mind. I was an introverted, timid child. Afraid of the boys who threw snowballs, afraid of steep ski trails, afraid of not getting A’s in every subject, all the time.
A lot of my anxiety got channeled into perfectionism, and—just like my mother—trying to control pretty much everything. The gift in my anxiety was a distinct drive to find peace. That quest led me to meditation at the tender age of 19. That was more than forty years ago. I was young and naïve, and really had no idea what I was doing (the belief that I could banish worry forever being just one indication of my naiveté). But, I persisted—and when I lost the thread of practice, I always eventually came back to it.
Here’s one thing I’ve learned in 40-some years of meditation and awareness practice: there is a great deal that I’m not aware of. Still. That could be discouraging, and sometimes it is. But, what keeps me on this path, what keeps me meditating and working to bring the light of mindful attention to the dark places in my mind and life, are the new awarenesses, the small victories I feel in moments when something that was unseen is all at once seen. There is a thrill in that, not perhaps like the thrill of speeding down a black diamond trail, or any of those other physical challenges I’ve always been afraid of, but a thrill just the same.
One day, not too long ago, I was driving to a train station to leave my car in a long-term lot while I visited New York for a few days. I had never been to this lot and as I drove, I was feeling the pressure of needing to find the lot, find a spot, and not miss the train.
That feeling of pressure isn’t unusual when I have a deadline such as a train to catch. But this time, for some reason, I became more acutely aware of a subtle layer of physical and emotional tension.
Just as I often do on the meditation cushion, I began to bring the feeling of tension more fully into awareness and to investigate it as I was driving. Here’s what I saw:
1. I was facing an unknown (inconsequential as it was), which triggered anxiety because the unknown is impossible to control.
2. My feelings were telling me a lie, that is, that this unknown situation had life-or-death consequences. And most importantly:
3. How I was relating to the unknown of not being sure about where to park and how long it would take, this is how I relate to all unknowns in my life, large and small. That is, I approach the unknown with an underlying assumption that was completely unconscious until that moment: “It Won’t Work Out.”
Because I had become aware of it, I was able to question the assumption. I remembered Pema Chodron’s description of a traditional Tibetan Buddhist teaching, from Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living: “train in the three difficulties.”
The first “difficulty” is to see your unhelpful patterns of thought and behavior. The second is to “do something different.” The third is to continue doing that different thing.
So, I asked myself, “What if I tried something different, and assumed it most likely would work out?” (That is, I would find the lot, be able to find a parking spot, and get to the train on time.)
I tried to coax my brain toward this idea, and to resist the considerable energy drawing it back to the habitual, well-worn track of “It Won’t Work Out.”
It felt strange, driving toward the station with the idea that finding parking and getting to the train was workable. I mean “strange” the way crossing your legs the opposite way from how you usually do feels strange. Not bad, really, but unfamiliar, foreign.
But not too long after it felt strange, it felt incredibly liberating. Just as assuming “It Won’t Work Out” is a pretty sure bet to breed anxiety, approaching an unknown with the assumption that it’s going to be workable is likely to induce at least some degree of calm and equanimity.
And it did. My shoulders relaxed, my breathing deepened, and I felt a kind of mental brightening, as if a foreboding storm cloud had unexpectedly lifted.
I’d like to say that was the moment when I cast aside the worn-out assumption that “It Won’t Work Out” and replaced it—forevermore—with “It’s All Workable.” Well, suffice it to say, I’m still working on the third difficulty: “Continue in that new way.”
But that’s okay with me now, in a way it wouldn’t have been four decades ago. Instead of feeling impatient to get rid of that worry-driven assumption, I feel grateful that I became aware of it.
And to me, that kind of awareness, arising seemingly spontaneously, is the fruit of meditation and whatever other ways we work to wake up. However imperfectly we make that effort, it does make a difference over time.
Contrary to the incessant messages from our turbo-charged culture, here’s another piece of wisdom I’ve gleaned in 40-some years of meditating and 60-some years of life: most change happens bit by bit, one small “aha” at a time, with lots of practice in between.
And there’s joy to be had—in each of those small awakenings, and in the winding path we walk toward the unknown, illumined by the light of one humble, thrilling realization after another.
(By the way–no surprise—I did find the lot and a parking space, and got to the train with plenty of time. It did work out.)
Find Abby on Twitter: @deepriverwithin
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This was wonderful. I loved your writing and the way you told the story. It shocked me at first. I was speaking with my 71 year old mother just yesterday – I am 43, and she disclosed her fear of going over bridges and water and being really sick as a child. I am a twin and we both grew up “If you do that, you’ll die”. My poor mother grew up the same way and lost her mother to cancer when she was still young. Thank you for sharing. I notice I do the exact same thing. I recently read of an exercise called Alternate Thought – when you are thinking of a negative outcome – write down an alternative that has a better ending.
Again, this is a wonderful read and would encourage you to work the ““It Won’t Work Out” concept. Sounds like the title of a New York Times best seller to me.
Penny
I am *very* belatedly* (!) seeing your response to my article from last year, and just wanted to thank you for your comments. I’m glad to hear this resonated for you, and appreciate the vote of confidence re: creating a NY Times Bestseller with the idea. (I’ll bet you can guess what belief about that comes to my mind right off the bat 😉 Anyway, also appreciate the Alternate Thought exercise. I do talk in my book about ‘blocking beliefs’ and creating an alternative belief that supports self-care or calm or whatever one’s intended goal is, as a way of countering the blocking belief. Sounds like a similar technique. Anyway, thanks much again for your response. Bright blessings, ~Abby
Thanks, Abby. I think driving over bridges is a natural fear for mothers. “If my car flew off this bridge and sank into the river below, how would I help my kids? How would we get out? Who would I take first? Would they survive the currents?’ I’ve talked about this with countless friends and we’ve all agreed that we have and do experience this to different degrees.
I, like you, have a mature mindfulness practice, and I consistently find that the best way for me to deal with fear is mindful action. Knowing that it wasn’t the finality of death that scared me but the chaos of unpreparedness, I got a utility knife that can break glass and cut seat belts in case of water emergency. I tucked that knife in the side pocket of my door and haven’t worried since.
Thank you, Vanessa….very belatedly as you can see from my comment above to Penny. I’m just seeing these now. Love the distinction between fear of ‘the finality of death’ vs. ‘the chaos of unpreparedness’. Sounds like you took a mindful action that really made a difference to the worry-mind….
Would that we could prepare for every possible eventuality….I guess that’s where practice comes in…learning to befriend chaos, not-knowing and all those lovely states that worry-mind forever wants to banish! Thanks again! Warmest wishes, ~Abby
Hi Abby,
My daughter has just sent me your article. It’s really good and i am going to incorporate your ideas into my everyday life. My life has been spent living in fear and I have tried to overcome it with hypnotherapy and counselling. I tend to leave a lot of things till the last minute so that I have to do them without worrying that they are not going to be perfect as time has taken them out of my hands.
It’s not a good way of working or living because then I regret not doing things properly. So here goes….
Good luck with using some of these ideas, Linda. If you have questions, or want to let me know how it’s going, feel free to be in touch! abby@deepriverwithin.com
This was very helpful. Thank you for sharing. I am just beginning to learn to be comfortable meditating, and this story you told gave me some good ideas to help myself.