For several weeks I had been thinking about writing a column on worrying, a subject on which I have often felt like I was an expert. I cried every day of first grade thinking that my perpetually late mother must have died in an accident when she didn’t pick me up on time. But my tendency to worry, increased even more as a parent, has been growing for several weeks.

Recently around Bryson City, a number of tragedies have hit individuals hard — and seemingly out of the blue. A local woman was struck by a runaway cement truck and killed while waiting for a traffic light to turn green in the heart of Bryson City, a place one would think as safe as you could get. Shortly following that, an employee of Nantahala Village was killed when a gun was accidentally discharged in his lodging, and this too happened when the victim was as seemingly far from harm's way as could be — asleep. Then, the other night I was driving west on U.S. 74 when a truck passed me in the other lane driving in the wrong direction. Less than two minutes later it collided with two of my friends head on.

All of these events had me pretty worried — anxious about the frailty of life on earth — but all of these tragedies have been overshadowed by the immensity of the sorrow and loss of the attacks on New York and Washington. In speaking with my students, all of whom went through high school with the lack of innocence of the post-Columbine years, I realize this anxiety and fear are prevalent among many young people these days. When I had originally planned this article, I had thought of discussing the peculiarity of those few of us who are perpetual “worrywarts” — but today, I wish that there were only a few.
Looking into people’s eyes, I see far too many.

The worry that I see today emanates from these types of tragedies — not only the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, but also in tragic events that happen closer to home — events that are difficult to prevent and often impossible to foresee. Of course, there is a vast difference between an accident, even a negligent accident, and a planned malicious attack, but I think the similarity that is important is the loss of life and injury coming so unexpectedly.

We, as Americans, pride ourselves on the safety and security of our society. Our control permeates all aspects of our lives. We place mirrors on blind curves. We mandate that car passengers wear seat belts and that small children ride in car seats. We eat vitamins and wear sunscreen. Many people think we should be safe from the attack of bears in a national park. Many people believe a defense system such as Star Wars will keep us safe forever. Many believe getting married means that you’ll be with that person forever. Tragedies, however, pull the rug out from under us, leaving us too confused and frightened to walk on the rug again.

Tragedies remind us that despite our grand efforts, our attempts to create a perfect safety are futile at best. But perhaps the illusion itself is what is needed just to get through each day, and therefore we struggle to create order out of the chaos. Our homes each post their own lights in the dark woods. But we would be deluding ourselves to think that the darkness isn’t there.

When our facade of safety, order, and permanence comes crumbling down, our fear takes over; we all become, in a sense, worrywarts, although we react to the fear in different ways.

Some react with anger, immediately seeking a sense of order and control again. I saw a couple of vans with “Bombs Away” and “America  Kick Ass” painted on them yesterday in Asheville. Reports of anti-Arab backlash in America are spreading.

Some react with the control of hindsight - as my father would say, “closing the barn doors after the horse has been stolen.” The FAA is scrambling for control, though it will be a long time before they can remove the fear from flying for most Americans.

But it seems as if all of these reactions are shots in the dark. They may make us feel better, but we are no more secure than ever. Maybe even less so.

I believe tragic events give us the opportunity to shake away the false comfort in our mistaken sense of security. Let’s face the fact that we’re vulnerable, more vulnerable than we can bear to think, and let’s celebrate our lives. Are we really doing what we love to do? Are we spending time with our children? Going for walks in the woods? If you were going to die next week, would you be doing what you are doing now?

Of course, the carpe diem sentiment can only go so far. If we only lived for the moment we’d be spending our retirement savings on chocolate and wine. There is an old Chinese saying that admonishes us to live every day as if it is our last and, at the same time, as if we were going to live a hundred years. This is a hard tightrope to walk, but maybe therein lies the perfect balance.

This is how I, a self-described worrier, am trying to cope with the chaos of our world and how I am trying to help my students cope with it. I am trying to turn my worry about life into reverence. I am trying to enjoy and value each breath I take, knowing I have a gift that many others who have died don’t. I am trying to worry less about my daughter’s future and instead be grateful that we have today. I am asking the fear that surrounds us for a dance and hoping I can learn a new step.

(Esther Godfrey is a teacher and student. She can be reached at egodfrey@utk.edu)

 

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