If I had been named for a personality trait, I would be known as "the worrier".  My dip into the genetic pool brought up an extra dose of the worry gene.  I used to tell people I emerged from the womb worrying.  While my recall does not go back quite that far, I do have a clear memory of an event when I was five years old.  I was sitting on a swing next to my friend Carol.  My long brown hair, pleated into braids, swung with the same rhythm as my legs pumping up and down, up and down.  I was a year older than Carol and had entered the world of public school, specifically the world of the strict and stern Miss Strumm, the kindergarten teacher.  In a most serious voice I turned to Carol and said, "Kindergarten is so hard."

I continued wrinkling my brow with every test, every paper, every project, right through public school and into college.  That is my explanation for the lines that are now a permanent part of my middle aged face.  Those advertisements for Botox are tempting, but then, of course, I would worry about the toxic side effects.  Instead I refer to those creases on my forehead as laugh lines slightly misplaced.

If I had thought the world of school was a testing ground for the worry personality, I discovered that marriage and motherhood were rich with opportunities for angst.  I have heard the expression "little children, little challenges, big children, bigger challenges" and I agree.  I remember spending hours researching the safest car seat that would protect my precious cargo from the dangers of the road.  That same precious cargo went on to get a driver's license and then a motorcycle.  I remember, too, researching travel programs for teens that offered good supervision and then sending son #1 off on a YMCA bike trip.  That same son, now an adult, flew to South America just before a political coup, took an eight hour bus ride to a small coastal town to spend two weeks windsurfing, and returned to the States battling dengue fever.  By the time I found out about the dengue fever, he was fine and I was reminded of something another friend often tells me.  "It's usually not the things we worry about that come to pass, but the things we do not worry about."

That philosophical thought brought me back to a children's story written in the '70's by Roger Hargreaves titled "Mr. Worry".  The main character has an endless list of worries that drive him to despair.  Finally he meets a wizard who, after reading this lengthy list, promises him that none of these things will happen.  With great relief, Mr. Worry has the happiest week he can remember until a new thought occurs to him and he returns to see the wizard.  Perplexed, the wizard confronts Mr. Worry.  The problem now is that Mr. Worry is worried about having no worries.  While written with humor, that little tale evokes pain for those readers who, like me, identify with the character.  If only that worry energy could effectively prevent all those fears from ever coming true.

But, I will concede, this trait is not all bad.  Through the years of growing from child to young adult to middle aged woman I have harnessed the worry energy in positive ways.  I see myself as responsible, reliable, well organized, and like a good scout, always prepared.  For me the worry has been like a navigational tool guiding me on the twists and turns of my path.  And that little girl on the swing did not fall off, kept on pumping, kept on pushing.

I smile now when I think of a poem my mother used to repeat, its author unknown.  "Why worry about the future?" she recited.  "The present is all thou hast.  The future will soon be present and the present will soon be past.  So why worry?"  Perhaps, as I head into my senior years I will be able to answer that question.

By Diane Snyder

Diane Snyder recently retired from a long career as a pre-kindergarten teacher at the Jewish Community Center in Stoughton.  She now puts all of her energy into writing.