The Little Book of Letting Go. Hugh Prather

of fear.

      Attitude 7: When things go well, you'd better start worrying.

      If a book or movie begins with happy scenes and cheery voices, we know something bad is about to happen. In every life a little sunshine must fall—but not for long. Notice that the very fact that things start going our way spurs us to worry.

      From sore experience we learn that what we desire most can hurt us most. Many athletes are unable to live up to the expectations generated by a huge contract. Books tell the tragic stories of lottery winners, rock stars, movie stars, and other celebrities. Tabloid news shows and tabloid newspapers are filled with the devastating effects of power, wealth, and fame on individuals who attain them. Oddly enough, many of the fairy-tales and children's stories that were read to us for enjoyment recount the ironic outcomes of granted wishes.

      Even in everyday conversation people say, “Be careful what you ask for—you just might get it.” Think of the implications of this statement: The special advantages with which you might start your life—good looks, good immune system, natural talent, inherited wealth, or something else—are untrustworthy. Yet the extras you hope and pray for are even more untrustworthy!

      Our problem is not that we don't look danger and irony in the face. We stare trance-like at the world's threatening visage. What we do not question is the value of this way of looking, the actual benefit to us of a worried perception.

      Letting Go of Our First Reaction

      These seven enabling attitudes are not particularly difficult to see through, and most of us eventually begin to recognize that worry decreases our ability to adjust and react; to be creative, intuitive, and sensitive; and certainly to know simple enjoyment and peace. Nevertheless, most people believe they have little control over their mind's tendency to fret and brood. Have you seen the bumper sticker, “If You're Not Worried, You're Not Paying Attention”? In other words, awareness must lead to worry. Most of us suspect that worrying is innate, part of the very nature of our mind. Through concentration and force of will, we may combat the magnitude and volume of worry, but we will never eliminate it. Anxiety is like some suffocating national religion and, like it or not, we too must kneel before the shrine of worry.

      To a limited extent, this perception is realistic, and the goal of a worry-free mind is unrealistic. Yet if it's true that we will always worry some, it must also be true that inner stillness and peace are unattainable. At any moment, worry, being more elemental and powerful, can interrupt stillness, however deep that stillness is.

      The Psalmist writes, “Be still and know that I am God.” Perhaps you have seen someone you love experience this kind of stillness: A mother holding an infant. A man after surviving a heart attack. A child quietly watching a kitten play. My guess is that you too have been “at peace” at least once, if not many times, in your life. Perhaps when you least expected it, the wings of peace enfolded you and you knew that nothing was real compared to this state of simplicity and rest.

      I mention these states that some call “the peace of God” to show that, unquestionably, worry can be stilled. However, a religious, spiritual, or transformational experience is not the only way to quiet worry. A shift of focus is actually all that's required. However, before we examine the minor shifts that eliminate minor worries, let's examine how the mind accomplishes this during times of great need. Strangely enough, extreme examples often are very helpful in clarifying the approach that is most serviceable in everyday circumstances.

      If your child has just been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness and no one can tell you the outcome, you will not only worry, you will agonize over what might happen. Don't believe for an instant there are normal people who can receive news about the possible destruction of their own body or the body of a loved one without having an emotional reaction. It is recorded in more than one holy scripture that saints, prophets, and even God “weeps” over the pain experienced by ordinary people.

      During times of tragedy, what is not helpful is a new concept or belief, even if it is spiritual. Yet so many people today think this is all it takes. Ram Dass has often told a story that illustrates why concepts don't work. It's about a guru who counseled a woman who was grieving over the death of her son that she should not be sad, because within the Divine there is no death. Years later, the guru's son died and the woman, seeing the deep grief of the guru, reminded him of what he had told her. “That was your son,” answered the guru. “This is my son.”

      Naturally, when faced with tragedy, we are going to worry, grieve, be outraged, and react in all the ways normal people react. This book would merely place an additional burden on anyone reading it if it suggested that humans should not react as humans. Our first reaction need not be questioned, but eventually we can and must ask if that is the only response of which we are capable.

      Returning to the example of receiving news about our child's illness, there comes a point when we question whether continuing to use our mind to worry benefits us, our sick child, or anyone. We never have to remain locked in our first reaction. Whatever the tragedy, ultimately we want a mind that brings us peace, and we want a mind that extends peace to others.