I'm completely unprepared, time has run out, and I don't even recall where the classroom is, so I can't find the professor. I wake up without a resolution.
This is how every brain works. It diligently perseverates over worst-case scenarios, like an anxious new parent. It's just trying to keep us safe and usually does a great job at it.
But that same vigilant hardwiring also makes it too easy to worry about the wrong things. It clouds our thinking with fear of outcomes that will never come to pass or aren't nearly as bad as we let ourselves imagine. That's the type of worry the writer Erma Bombeck equated to a rocking chair: "It gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere."
And all that useless worry is detrimental to our overall mental and physical well-being. It can misinform decision-making, raise stress levels, keep us up at night and erode our happiness.
For some, anxiety and worry are so toxic and burdensome that medication and/or therapy is needed to fully function. "What worries you," John Locke wrote, "masters you."
So learning how to better separate the good worry, which protects us, from the useless worry, which harms us, is a vital life skill.
Consider the following simple exercise to increase your insight into how much you worry needlessly. It's an experiment I did for years with the goal of better identifying and reducing my "rocking chair" fretting while better harnessing the useful kind of worry.
'Top 10 Worries'
Begin by writing down all the major things you're currently worried about. It's not pleasant to ruminate on them, but the fact is that your brain is constantly thinking about them anyway. Just because a worry is subconscious doesn't shield you from its negative effects.
I suggest two rules for making the list. First, try to make the time frame for whether they will happen just six months. That limits you to concrete and quantifiable worries. You may have general anxiety thoughts like "I think something bad is going to happen" or worries over the next year -- or four -- but for the purposes of this experiment, limit your worries to those outcomes resolved in the next 180 days.
Second, keep the number at 10. If you have more than that, pick the biggest ones. If you have fewer than 10, good for you, but challenge yourself to go deeper and find other worries of which you may be less aware.
Some of your 10 worries will be big, others small or even trivial. Some you may feel you have no control over while some you do. Don't worry about their seriousness or ranking them; just capture what's causing you any anticipatory fear.
Then, take your final list of 10, put it somewhere private and make a note in your calendar to check in on those worries in six months.
When time is up, record how many on the list came to fruition. Create a new Top 10 Worries list, and check those in another six months. Repeat the experiment until you have a better understanding of how often the things you worry about don't happen. And for those concerns that do come to fruition, you may see the needlessness of some of those worries, as well.
My score: 60% baseless worry
I performed this "Top 10 Worries" exercise many times over the course of five years. Of my 100 total worries, 60 didn't happen. That's a lot of needless attention, and I could have used that time in better ways.
Here is what I also learned: That percentage of wasted worry went down as the experiment went on. In other words, more of the things I worried about actually happened.
During the first few rounds, about 80% of my worries were as illusory as my college class nightmare. But over the course of the experiment, I more accurately anticipated bad outcomes because I got better at not worrying over what was highly unlikely (and not because my life got increasingly unlucky over those years).
It also became harder to make lists of 10 over time, because the experiment itself was reducing worry.
Even more edifying was that of the 40 worries that did occur, most of them fell into two categories: Either they happened but didn't seem nearly as bad as I worried they would be (such as needing to dip into savings), or they happened but there was nothing I could have done to prevent them (such as whether a friend broke up with his significant other).
Both of those worry types, even though they made the leap to reality, were also pointless.
The idea that some circumstances we call "bad" can, over time, turn out favorable is a Taoist philosophy I've written about before. Sometimes, there is a big upside to what seemed bad (such as a horrible breakup that leads to finding your true love). And the wisdom of knowing the difference between the things you can and can't change is famously covered by the words of pastor