I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

Mary Oliver, Devotions

I’ve worried a lot, too. I worry much less at my age because I also finally saw that it never really helped. I’m also a hopeless singer, with most of my practice done in the shower, solo. But, Mary Oliver’s poem has inspired me to stop worrying whether I’m as good a singer as a sparrow and just sing. So, starting tomorrow morning… 😁