Analysis of Worry : Part 1

Why Worry?
by George Lincoln Walton, M.D.

(Page 4 of 18)

Of these points the principal and most urgent is that which reaches the passions; for passion is produced no otherwise than by a disappointment of one's desires and an incurring of one's aversions. It is this which introduces perturbations, tumults, misfortunes, and calamities; this is the spring of sorrow, lamentation and envy; this renders us envious and emulous, and incapable of hearing reason.

Epictetus.

Under this rather pretentious title an attempt is made to indicate certain elements of worry. No claim is made that the treatment of the subject is exhaustive.

The motto "Don't Worry" has inspired many homilies. But the mere resolve to follow this guide to happiness will no more instantaneously free one from the meshes of worry than the resolve to perform a difficult gymnastic feat will insure its immediate accomplishment.

The evils of worry as well as of its frequent associate, anger, have been dwelt upon by writers philosophical, religious, and medical. "Worry," says one author, "is the root of all cowardly passions, - jealousy, fear, the belittling of self, and all the introspective forms of depression are the children of worry." The symptoms and the evil results seem to receive more elaborate and detailed attention than the treatment. "Eliminate it," counsels this writer; "Don't worry," advises another. "Such advice is superficial," says their critic, "it can only be subdued by our ascending into a higher atmosphere, where we are able to look down and comprehend the just proportions of life." "Cultivate a quiet and peaceful frame of mind," urges another; and still another advises us to "occupy the mind with better things, and the best - is a habit of confidence and repose."

From such counsel the average individual succeeds in extracting nothing tangible. The last writer of those I have quoted comes perhaps the nearest to something definite in directing us to occupy the mind with better things; in the suggestions I have to offer the important feature is the effort to replace one thought by another, though not necessarily by a better one. If we succeed in doing this, we are making a step toward acquiring the habit of confidence and repose.

The simple admonition not to worry is like advising one not to walk awkwardly who has never learned to walk otherwise. If we can find some of the simpler elements out of which worry is constructed, and can learn to direct our attack against these, the proposition "Don't worry" will begin to assume a tangible form.

We can at least go back one step, and realize that it is by way of the unduly insistent thought that most of these faulty mental habits become established. It might be claimed that fear deserves first mention, but the insistent thought in a way includes fear, and in many cases is independent of it.

The insistent thought magnifies by concentration of attention, and by repetition, the origin of the worry. If my thoughts dwell on my desire for an automobile this subject finally excludes all others, and the automobile becomes, for the time being, the most important thing in the world, hence I worry. Into this worry comes no suggestion of fear - this emotion would be more appropriate, perhaps, if I acquired the automobile and attempted to run it. If, now, I have trained myself to concentrate my attention elsewhere before such thoughts become coercive, the automobile quickly assumes its proper relation to other things, and there is no occasion for worry. This habit of mind once acquired regarding the unessentials of life, it is remarkable how quickly it adapts itself to really important matters.

Take a somewhat more serious question. I fear I may make a blunder. If I harbor the thought, my mind is so filled with the disastrous consequences of the possible blunder that I finally either abandon the undertaking or approach it with a trepidation that invites failure. If, on the other hand, I have learned to say that even if I make a blunder it will only add to my experience, then apply myself whole-minded to the task, I have made a direct attack on worry.

The qualification unduly is not to be forgotten; a certain discrimination must be exercised before entirely condemning the insistent thought. The insistent thought that one's family must be fed is not a morbid sign. In fact, he also errs who can eliminate this thought and enjoy the ball game. It is not for the deviate of this type that I am writing. Nevertheless, the over-solicitous victim of the "New England Conscience" can almost afford to take a few lessons from the ne'er-do-weel.

The practical bearing of this attempt to analyze worry is obvious. If it is through the insistent desire for an automobile that I worry, I must bring my training to bear, not on the worry, which is elusive, but on the desire, which is definite. I must fortify myself with what philosophy I can acquire, and must console myself with such compensations as my situation may offer; and above all, I must get busy, and occupy hands and brain with something else. If, on my travels, I worry over the sluggish movement of the train, it is because of the insistent thought that I must arrive on time. In this event I should practice subduing the insistent thought, rather than vaguely direct my efforts against the worry. In the majority of cases I can bring myself to realize that the question of my arrival is not vital. Even in case I am missing an important engagement I may modify the dominance of the thought by reflecting that I cannot expect to be wholly immune from the misfortunes of mankind; it is due me, at least once in a lifetime, to miss an important engagement, - why fret because this happens to be the appointed time? Why not occupy my thoughts more profitably than in rehearsing the varied features of this unavoidable annoyance?