The other day, Dennis mentioned that I have a proclivity to worry. What? Me? I was stunned. Mostly because I had apparently forgotten how well he knows me and how badly I cover. Funny thing is, I’m not really trying to cover. And a ton of people who know me, also know that I have a tendency toward the worrying, although I express it as an abundance of emotional overachieving. At Hearst in my Assistant Managing Editor days, people would say, “you’re so chill.” Sure, as long as I had a sense that I could keep things in my line of vision, even if only out the corner of my eye. When deadlines spun out, my game face was weirdly even more chill, my nervous system not so much.

So, yes, I’m a worrier. It’s rooted in loosing control—a terrifying proposition. Luckily I found journalism, a career where there is a kind of invisible electric-fence boundary of rules: deadlines, style guides, production expectations. It’s not as if people couldn’t (& didn’t) fling themselves outside the boundaries on the regular. After all, I worked in the music business mostly. But for me, I could exercise some outsize risk, creativity, bad behavior inside the perimeter and feel pretty safe about it. At that time, I didn’t actually tell anyone about my control issues, but if they were paying attention they might have noticed the fear in my eyes when I or someone else danced too close to the electric edge.

I already had to cover for one habit that is patently anti-rock’n’roll, which is my absolute inability to be on time. Meaning, I’m always absurdly early to everything. I’m the one circling the block, fifteen minutes before the party, and still I’ll be the first one there. It’s not a good look. Back in the day, I’d show up at a bar twenty minutes early to meet a band. Not to put too fine a point on the ridiculousness of that but I was meeting a class of humans for which time existed fluidly. Clocks? Appointments? bah. I would sit and smoke (remember when you could do that? remember when you could go to bars?), sip a drink, and try not to feel like the person everyone was staring at and saying, “How sad. Look at her. Alone.” Of course no one was noticing, but it’s what I thought was going on. I made a real effort to understand arrival, or even better, being-late time, wondered if there were classes in that. But it never took. Later, my friendships included people who showed up when we all agreed. A lot of times I’d have already been there, but my fifteen-minutes early arrival was not painful. Still a little embarrassing, but again, I’m pretty sure I was the only one paying any attention to me sitting there. For the last eleven months, I’m the person lurking outside the Zoom meeting reading the message “Please wait, the meeting host will let you in soon.” And I still get a twinge of embarrassment when I read that, even though there is literally no one else around to notice.

And what does this have to do with worry, you might ask. Well, when I dig under how I present myself to the world as all fine, all in control, in fact so in control I’m early, I recognize the layers underneath. The top one says, “I’m competent. You can count on me. I will not fail you.” That sits on “I don’t want anyone to doubt me, so I will keep it together. Do what is needed.” Next under is “I won’t let you see me falter or fail because I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.” Then, “I’m afraid if you’re disappointed, you’ll leave me.” And, finally “please. don’t leave.” Rinse and repeat.

This is my shadow and I’m glad to know it. We all have them. I’m no therapist-to-all-mankind. No therapist at all. But of the many decades living with myself, it’s good to know what’s there. The places I’ve gone to try and get purchase on these inside moments have ranged. There’s been the professional talk-therapy route. Awesome. I’m a big believer. There is writing: My lifeline, My blood. There’s also been the support of friends and being honest about what’s happening. Also great when you make sure you trust those people. And I’m lucky to have many many that I do who are not afraid to visit the dark and the light with me.

The latest This Jungian Life (yes, I know, I should marry this show I love it so much) talks about … well, it talks about a lot. The title is Self-Loathing and it’s very amazing. One thing that stood out was the idea of inviting all those inside voices out. Find a quiet time to listen to them and just say “Yes, I did that. I was a part of that. It’s okay. What can I learn?” and know they’ll come again and I won’t necessarily like it, but I’ll be better for it. How will I welcome them? One thing about these past many months where we’ve all been inside is the fear and the sense of being out of control. How to make friends with those things? When I read about the people disappearing into dark holes by way of online groups (cults, militias, echo-chambers of fear) because they feel as if those are the places and groups where they’re heard, I think of how isolated we’ve been and how if someone’s searching for a connection, there are so many places to jump. And in no universe does it work to belittle or shame. Believe me, I’ve made too many mistakes not listening. I’m sure I’ve patronized. I’m in a place now where there is no possibility of conversation around political topics with a family member because there is fear around the emotion of where it will take us. This makes me sad, but I also realize it’s about listening. And really understanding that there are (many) things I can’t control. This is life, I’ve shown up early. Now I just have to wait, listen, learn.