I spend too much time worrying. And then I spend even more time worrying about how much I worry. Things I worry about include my children, my husband, my work, my country, and the world, just to mention a few.

I am not the lone worrier among my friends. For example, a close friend worries about her daughter Abby who leads college students on serious beyond-cell phone outdoor adventures. Abby is a very experienced outdoors leader. Yet her mother is always greatly relieved to hear that Abby and her charges are safely back on campus. Another friend claims that the only downside to having eleven fabulous grandchildren is more people to worry about.

One anti-worry strategy that I try is to tell myself not to worry about a particular potentially dangerous event undertaken by a loved one (usually a child), because if he survives this one, another potentially dangerous event will be close behind. So why waste time worrying about this one?

At 70, I am who I am and that’s OK. And if that includes being an unproductive worrier, I just can’t worry about it.