Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday…..

Sherri T.

Dear WOOM readers:  Over the summer months, we will be publishing your blog favorites.  Thank you so much for your continued support!

….and all is well.

These were the wise words of Frida, mother of dear friend Carol. They are words to which we (I) should pay close attention. 

I am a serious and serial worrier.  Far more than worrywart.  Worry warrior is a more accurate term.

Every day, the battle takes shape: a fresh list of things to be upset about. Or maybe they are the same things as yesterday.  Either way, not to worry, there is always plenty of material for continued angst.

The other day, I was in a coffee shop and accidentally overheard (read: was intently listening to) the conversation next door.  One of the sippers was earnestly telling her coffee mate that she wakes up every morning to see four letters appear before her eyes: H-O-P-E.

Really? The letters that appear before my eyes every day spell C-O-P-E.

Now at the risk of sounding like the eternal pessimist, I should explain that there is a good three-letter reason for my neurosis. M-O-M.

It all boils down to underwear. As I explained in an earlier blog, my mother was always telling me to wear clean socks.  

She was apparently not alone in her concern with the state of our undergarments. I have learned that wearing clean underwear is common advice passed along through generations.

The story goes like this. If you go anywhere, you might have an accident. You could end up in hospital and need an operation. If you need an operation, you had better be wearing clean underwear.

Wear clean underwear (or socks) are actually code words for “be safe.”  As I was growing up, the worry chip was planted deeply in my soul. Or at least in my sole.

I really must pay more attention to Frida’s words of salvation. She encourages us not to waste every moment of every precious day mulling over what ifs. Because tomorrow rarely ends up as bad as we fear.

How does Frida know this? Maybe life experience actually counts for something. Frida would no doubt have agreed with the wise words of Ray, mother of dear friend Michelle: “I have been your age. You have never been mine.”