I remember sitting in a third year social psychology class and hearing for the first time that the happy go lucky personality trait is looked down on by society. These people are not seen as achievers. I have to admit that this new knowledge shook me up a bit. I’m the third born of three daughters. I was born not to worry. My sisters could always do the worrying for me. I was always content with my Alfred E. Newman state of mind. My father is a worrier extraordinaire. He has always seen danger around every corner. Someone had to be out having fun in the sun while the rest of the family gathered nuts for the upcoming winter. As I got older I began to see the possibility of worrying. I stepped up to the ropes of the worry ring, tapped my eldest sister on the shoulder and said to her. “I’m not going to worry yet, but you tell me when I need to”. A very safe place to be. I know she will never needlessly worry me.
I married a big worrier who comes from a family of worriers. Safe again.
Usually when he is up in the middle of the night worrying about something I can be the calming voice that explains that 3a.m. is never a good time to think about this stuff. I’ve learned to love Type A people. They are the ones who get things done so that the Happy Go Luckies can sit back, relax and be the calming force that we are.
Then along came my kids. Not worrying is no longer an option. Now I find myself having these little conversations in my head, trying to be my own calming 3a.m. voice. Sometimes it works and when it doesn’t I can usually turn to one of the worriers in my life. They’ve either already come up with a solution or know that it is not something worthy of their worry. This helps. A lot.
So I am trying to talk myself out of my anxieties about our trip. Papa Bear does not share my worry about the heat or my claustrophobia about flying. If my inner voice does not calm me I know that the Gravol will.
There is only one constant in my life that worries me. The Artiste is pretty happy go lucky.