Anxiety

      Happened to mention to the doorman this morning that I have something difficult to do tomorrow and that I’m anxious.

      Quite anxious, to be sure, though I didn’t go that far with the doorman.

      Am I more anxious because I’m old?

      It feels that way. Do less and what you do do feels more difficult. And you move and think somewhat slower so maybe things are in fact more difficult for older you—for older me.

      On the other hand, there seems less at stake.

      I am no longer trying to establish a life for myself. I have no career to screw up, no young children to mess up.

      And I certainly know many younger people who struggle to keep the anxiety down—even though they don’t move and think more slowly.

      The doorman to whom I mentioned my anxiousness about tomorrow has often set off on weeks-long motorcycle trips, trips to parts unknown—in Europe and North America.

       He says he always feels anxious as he leaves his home and gets on his bike—with many new roads and new challenges in front of him. But, he emphasized, once he revs up his bike and starts moving the anxiety always lifts.

      That did calm me some.

      I do know the feeling that comes when you are finally doing what you were nervous about doing.

      Usually.

      Now I’m nervous that it won’t come this time.