What's your worry score?

If I rated the level of anxious thoughts rattling around in my head on an average day, it would be a 1, minor annoyance, occasional twinge. ( I'm comparing them to the ten point pain scale.)  In the weeks after my husband's cancer diagnosis it skyrocketed to 7, difficult to concentrate, couldn't sleep. I would have called that level torment. 

Worry Score level 9 - panicked, frozen

Recent what-ifs sounded like this: 

1.   What if my alarm doesn’t go off? 

2.   If I don’t take a sleep-aid I’ll never get to sleep. (So I took one, and slept well until 3:15 then woke up every 30 minutes until the alarm DID go off.)

3.   6:30 a.m., ten minutes before the bus is due, I am waiting. Should I have checked the website a fifth time in case they have posted an updated list of which juror numbers must attend? 

4.   I am wearing white pants, I’d better take a plastic bag to sit on the bus bench. 

5.   I wonder: Will the bus be on time? At 6:40 a.m. I consider it might have been early and I missed it.  Or, perhaps I’m confused and I should be at the bus stop across the street going the other direction? So I holler across the street at the man waiting in that bus stop and double check which direction he is headed. My bus arrives at 6:43. But the driver is new. She might drive too slowly. 

6.   I have to transfer buses, and then walk to the courthouse. What if I am late? Will some official scold me? I prepare an answer in my head. And rehearse it. 

7.   I take a photo of the security line inside of the courthouse to prove I arrived at 7:50 a.m. in case said official does demand an explanation for my tardiness. 

8.   I get through security and join two or three hundred other people assembled for the session. Do I have to go to the restroom? What if I miss something important? I wait. 

9.   Will my phone battery last for the day? I put it on airplane mode. I don’t use it. 

10.  After a welcome and pep talk by a judge we watch a high-school type civics video about our duty. Then we are told to please remain in our seats until our numbers are called, but I can’t wait. I join twenty other women in line outside of the restroom. When I am two people away from the front of the line we hear the announcement from the auditorium to take our seats. The woman ahead of me expresses her panic which I share. “I can’t wait!” The official voice assures us she will recall any numbers who have not responded at the end of her list. 

11.  I dig through my bag for my jury summons. I clutch it because I don’t think I can remember those four digits in the right order. I repeat them to myself over and over, “5510, 5510, 5510” while she calls numbers. 

12.  What if I get on a long trial? I will have to cancel tutoring on Tuesday, Willow childcare on Wednesday, no music group on Thursday. I try to stop the catastrophizing.

13.  When called, my group of potential jurors is at least forty people. Is this a felony case, requiring a jury of twelve? That could go on all week! But we are dismissed.

14. I check my watch. I have an hour until my return bus. So I piddle around while I walk the eight blocks to the first bus stop. I’m unsure I read the schedule correctly. I take the first bus. I get off and walk to my transfer stop. I sit on the second bench. I check my phone (no longer in airplane mode) and I’m pretty sure I have misread the schedule. I could have caught the right bus if I had not been leisurely. 

15.  Now I will sit on the shady bench and hope no driver in the very close and fast traffic does not veer off the road and kill or maim me. I cannot decide which is worse. 

16.  When the bus comes I double check with the driver that he is going all of the way to my stop. Assured, I get on and finally quit worrying.  

Whew! Sixteen distinct points of worry. I think that makes me more than a worrywart, more than a fussbudget, probably a basket case. Maybe a level six. But I did not hyperventilate or cry at any time, so I should get by without meds. 

But only during the day. Still need them at night. 

Can anybody relate? Let me know so I can take solace in a sisterhood of angst. 

Travel Fit

Last week I had time to watch people at the Seattle airport. I was sitting at the bus pick-up point for the various Alaskan cruises, so lots of folks passed by. There were so many feeble seniors that I wondered if they were on a special tour.  

flcikr, photo by doublewinky

I thought back to another recent flight when my two seat mates (center and aisle) both required wheel chairs down the jet way, were obese, and were barely able to get up out of their seats to let me take mine. What if we had an emergency? I'd be hemmed in, and possibly endangered by their relative disability. 

It made me nervous. 

Airlines can deny boarding to drunk passengers. Do they have other guidelines for other passengers who could hinder safety? I looked up the regulations of the US Department of Transportation, and only under very specific circumstances (unstated in their memo) can the airline require a traveling companion for a disabled person. But if I wasn't mobile, I don't think I would want to fly.  

I am grateful for my relatively vigorous health. As a reality check for the future I made a list. I will quit gallivanting when any of the following three apply:

- My luggage requires a cart.

- Most of my activity takes place in the dining room.

- I can't navigate the airport under my own steam.

- I don't do anything new at my destination.

- KEDS tennis shoes, pants with elastic waistbands, and sweatshirts decorated with wolf faces are my fashion choices. (Maybe that's only for the Alaska-bound.)

At that point, I'll content myself with reliving memories.

Traveling Mercies

I usually pray for safety when I travel.  But I’ve heard others ask for traveling mercies. I finally understand that means  unexpected goodness in the middle of unfavorable circumstances.

The night before a recent trip I discovered that the route took me into La Guardia in NYC, and out of Newark, NJ.  In a panic I called the booking company. Sorry, they couldn’t do anything about it. I called the airline. Sure, they could find me a more direct route--for an additional $600!  Finally I found a shuttle service that ran between the airports, and I could probably make the cross town trip in the three hours I had between the flights. I prayed that I’d make my connection, and went to bed. The next day I checked in and hoped for a complimentary reroute. No go. 

The flight departed on time--a good start. Even better, the small commuter jet flew up the Hudson River close enough to the Statue of Liberty to wave. What a thrill!  On the ground, I found and paid for the shuttle--on my way within minutes. This was going great. 

Plowing through traffic I felt prompted to pray for the multi-cultural people and neighborhoods I passed, the skyscrapers and the businesses inside of them. I felt connected to the city. Enjoying my mini tour, I laughed at the sign threatening a $350.00 fine for honking horns. Really, are there cops with time to run down a blaring Buick? And the guy wearing a shirt that said “New York City eats its young.” What's with that?

Mercy transformed my mistake into fun, and made me glad I’d missed another boring connection through Atlanta.

Six weeks later I headed west again. This time weather delayed my departure, and after two hours I knew I had missed my connection. I fretted, I stewed, I imagined that the subsequent flights would be full and I would be stranded.  I wanted God to fix it. 

The man sitting next to me stayed calm even though his cellphone conversation revealed he'd miss his connections to Belgium and Africa.  Intrigued, I asked him the purpose of his trip.  He was a pastor going to continue community development work in rural Africa that his church supported. I admitted that I believed in God, even though wasn't acting like it.  I poured out my frustration and fear that I'd get stuck in New York. He said he would pray for me. Then, for a couple of peaceful hours, he answered my questions about the community development.  The deprivations those people faced put my inconvenience in perspective.

Twice I experienced "traveling mercies." 

Next trip I'll ask for the grace as I zip my suitcase, and look for it along the way.