The woman could have broken off the friendship, but what if there isn’t anything we can do about our situation? In that case, I think it is helpful to ask ourselves, “If there is nothing I can do about it, then why am I worrying about it?” It is a rhetorical question really, but by thinking that to ourselves, we reduce the likelihood that we will continue thinking about whatever it is that is causing us stress.
My college roommate was unable to see the futility in worrying about an exam he already turned in.
I only recently became a parent, so worrying about children is new to me. I do occasionally worry about my daughter’s future, as I previously mentioned, but I try to limit this. I am, however, always concerned for her well-being. Concern, at least the way I use the word, is not the same thing as worry. Both imply a form of caring, but worry can be unnecessary and anxiety inducing: I am concerned for my daughter’s life, but I don’t worry that she’ll be mauled by bears.
I remember once using the aforementioned line of questioning with a friend who was feeling a bit stressed about his kids. First, I asked him what he was worried about. He said, “It’s my kids, they are away at college and I’m concerned that they are partying too much instead of studying. I am worried they are going to fail out.”
That’s a pretty serious concern. I asked him why he thought that. “Well, I keep seeing these pictures they post on Facebook, they are always going to parties and drinking.” Let me pause the serious conversation for a minute, because um . . . that is what Facebook is for. You post pictures of yourself partying and having good times with friends. Nobody ever posts a photo of themselves reading a book. You’ll never see a post from your kids at home at the dorm, hair messed up, in their pajamas, with the caption, “Hey, guys, this is me studying for an exam!” Social media is for posting pictures of partying. That, and kittens.
“Yeah, I know, but I still can’t help worrying about them. They are my kids, you gotta worry about your kids,” he said. Okay, I thought, and asked him, “Can you do anything about this? “Well, not really. They live in another city.” Okay, I thought, and asked him, “If you can’t do anything about it, then what is the point of worrying about it?”
“Well, they are my kids, you gotta worry about your kids.”
“Okay, can you do anything about this?”
“No.”
“Okay, if you can’t do anything about it, then what is the point of worrying about it?”
“Well, they are my kids . . . ”
The conversation cycle continued until, finally, he suggested, “You know, I guess on some level I really just like worrying.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a breakthrough! I almost never catch that level of self-awareness in people, but he was telling the truth. Some of us enjoy worrying. If it isn’t those kids, or the exam, or the potential traffic on our commute, we’ll find something else to worry about. If nothing worry-worthy is going on in our immediate lives, we can turn on the news or worry about the things that show up on our Facebook feed.
I love social media, but it really does provide worry fuel for a lot of people. I suspect those same people would worry plenty without it, but at least I wouldn’t have to scroll through their alarmist posts to see my friend’s vacation pictures. What is interesting to me is that social media is whatever we make it: we control the content we are exposed to.19 And yet, I often hear from people who quit it because of “all the drama.” Which is a shame, because there are so many positive messages being shared on a regular basis. We just have to learn how to filter the nuggets from the dirt.20
Speaking of nuggets, skimmers, this is for you:
If we can’t do anything to change a situation, what is the point of worrying about it?
Sometimes people ask me when it is appropriate to worry or if all worrying is stressful. I think these questions are really a case of getting hung up on semantic differences. Realistic concern and worry are not the same thing. There is a big difference between “There might be traffic” and “Oh, man, I am totally going to be late because of traffic.” One of them may help you prepare for a situation, the other causes stress. Similarly, there is a difference between understanding that you may encounter bears on your hike through Yosemite National Park and being so worried about bear attacks that you are on edge the entire time, or worse – you don’t even go on the hike. Yosemite is one of the most amazing places on Earth. I couldn’t imagine being so worried about bears that I would miss out on that experience. By the way, if you haven’t been, and you have the means, then definitely go! The views are breathtaking, and chances are you’ll recognize it from the Ansel Adams poster that was hanging in your friend’s dorm room. I try to visit at least once a year.21
I frequently ask people to tell me why they worry, and I hardly ever get the answer I am after. For example, I just shared a conversation with a worrying friend in which I asked him why he worried and he said that he thought his kids were partying too much while away at college. Like most people whom I ask, he was telling me what he worries about, not why he worries. If you are a worrier, why do you worry? Understanding why you repeatedly engage in this behavior could be a great help in overcoming it.
In the interest of full disclosure and as you may have figured out by now, I am not a worrier. So I can’t speak on the impulse to worry from my personal experience; however, it’s pretty clear to me that nobody seems to consciously decide to worry. I doubt anyone ever says to themselves, “Hey, you know I really feel like worrying right now. Let’s see, what should I worry about? I know, I’ll worry about those kids!” In other words, it does not appear to be a behavior initiated by the conscious mind, or the prefrontal cortex. Therefore, it is probably selected unconsciously by the nucleus accumbens in its basic decision-making.
As you now know, decisions made by the accumbens are the result of comparing the relative benefit of whatever options are currently being presented. Because we know the brain chose to worry—it is an observed behavior—that must mean that the action of worrying was associated with a greater potential value than any of its competitors. That also means that worrying apparently has value to the brain. Now, what are the benefits of worrying?
You may recall that the benefit of an action is that it either provides some sort of reward or it provides relief. So the benefits of worry have to fall into one of those two options. We can probably rule out reward, or positive reinforcement. I am sure that nobody derives pleasure from worrying. At least I have never heard anyone say something like “Oh, man, last night I was worrying so good!” or “I can’t wait to get home from work so I can worry some more!” or even “I’ve got a whole bunch of things I’m going to worry about this weekend, it is going to be awesome. You should come over!” No, I have never been invited to a worry party (and I would totally go just for . . . science), so I am pretty sure worry is not a pleasurable activity. And if worry isn’t providing the brain with some reward, then it must provide relief. But relief from what?
That is a hard question for most people to answer, so here is where the doctorate in psychology comes in handy. As it turns out, worry provides relief to the brain for a very uncomfortable condition it sometimes experiences called “inactivity.” The brain is a vast electrical circuit comprised of individual cells called “neurons” making connections to one another. Neurons are specialized cells that conduct electricity, and they are regularly transmitting electrical impulses to each other via their connections. Networks of connected cells stimulating each other can, and do, represent everything in your head, from the definition of