the I in panic

My boss called me at home early last week. She had to put me on hold for a few minutes, and this gave me time to ponder how odd it was to be hearing from her about seven-thirty in the evening.

My train of thought went something like this: “What in the world could she be calling about? Does she have a question about that project? Could I have misplaced something? Or is she just going to say that I shouldn’t come in tomorrow – or at all! Maybe the company’s in trouble financially with that one contract getting moved back! Or have I done something wrong? I HAVEN’T BEEN THERE LONG ENOUGH TO DO ANYTHING!” And if you’re reading each of those lines with increasing panic, then you’re reading them the way I was thinking them.

Needless to say, by the time she was back on the phone, I had braced myself for impending bad news. And the reason for the call? She was attending a training class the next day, and she realized that it would be beneficial for me to tag along as well. Could I meet her there at eight-thirty? I sheepishly said yes.

After I hung up, I was embarrassed to be reminded of my tendency of late to fly into Chicken Little mode at the drop of a hat. I’ve been doing that for the better part of this year in my thoughts about my health issues – all of which are thankfully minor, btw, knock on wood. Yet I persist in going from “everything’s okay” to “everything’s as BAD as it can POSSIBLY BE.”

Maybe Thanksgiving would be an excellent time for me to count my blessings and include all those things I’ve recently worried about that turned out to be nothing.

And hopefully I’ll take that all to heart and just try to calm(!) down(!).

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