Unduly concerned

I feel like I have a pretty happy life. That's not to say I like everything about it (e.g., I don't have a BFF), but overall, I'm happy with my life.

I have a fantastic job, even if it's not permanent yet.

I get so much joy out of trail running. I get to be healthy and have fun at the same time.

Sticky geranium

Sego lily season!

I geek out over holidays and holiday treats.

I wish the Kneaders flag cake was a little smaller so I don't feel guilty eating the whole thing.

I love having a teenage cat.

Yessir, I'm pretty content.

But I look at other people's lives, and it makes me sad.

I know a little child who can be a cute kid when he is well behaved, but often he is not, because he has a terrible father figure, who likewise had a terrible father figure himself, who (apparently) also had a terrible father figure. It's so sad to see the cycle continue.

I know someone who has some physical deformities, and I was thinking about what it must have been like for him to grow up with those, and how the inevitable school teasing probably contributed to insecurities and poor social skills.

A family friend is currently in the hospital with cancer, and even though his survival odds would be so much better if he quit smoking, he just can't stop.

And all this kind of makes me feel guilty. Who am I to be happy when there's so much sadness going on? Just because I'm fortunate enough not to have poor role models, physical disabilities, or addictions.

I find myself plagued with guilt and regret. I regret poor decisions, awkward situations, and unfortunate circumstances.

For example, my ten-year high school reunion is coming up, and they devised a rather cumbersome, antiquated method of payment. I had to walk into a bank and make a deposit to an account. (The other option was to mail a check. Seriously, what year do they think this is? They also made a Facebook group, where I think an event would have been more intuitive, and they asked everyone to comment on a post so they could see how widespread their posts were. Wouldn't a "like" be just as effective?) So I go in the bank and tell the teller that I need to make a deposit. I don't specify what I'm depositing it into, so she takes my name and searches and searches and can't find my name, because I don't have an account there. I guess I should have known that she thought I was trying to deposit it into my own account. So when that was straightened out, I told her the account name was "WX Class of 07," because that's what the instructions said to make the check to. How was I supposed to know they spelled out "Woods Cross," contrary to what they had written? Afterwards, I was eating lunch and reflecting on how awkward the exchange had been. It was dragging me down. But I had to realize that it really wasn't that big of a deal. It was over, and I did what needed to be done. Why did I have to think about it anymore?

Yesterday I was reading Philippians 4, which might be my favorite chapter in the New Testament. Verse 6 says "Be careful for nothing," which the study helps say would be better translated as "Don’t be unduly concerned about anything." (Semantic shift is a very real thing, people.) The Catholic New American Bible says "Have no anxiety at all." That verse had never stuck out to me before, but this week it did. I worry too much. I need to stop.

Figuring out how will be the next step.