Fearful days

Oh, these fearful days!

I'm a lathered, wide-eyed steed ridden cruelly by Anxiety, the demon jockey.  His strength waxes and wanes, but at the moment he is firmly in the saddle, and does not spare the lash.

Examples?

At my place of employment, my boss has told me I'm doing good work, as have my coworkers. So, why am I fearful for my job?

Although my health is good, and she is a strong and capable woman, I am visited by dreadful thoughts of the day when my wife, beloved Maty, will be without me. After all, I am seventeen years her senior. Rationally, I know she will never be alone. Her family extends across two continents and she is much loved by all who know her. And yet I ache at the thought of her: bereft, grieving, after I am gone. (That she might pass before me is unthinkable.)

The ascendancy of the new "normal," where racists and Nazis demonstrate openly in the streets and their views are given credence by a confused and angry people weighs heavily on me. I fear for my family. I fear for my people.

Anxiety is indeed a thief. I resent that it is robbing me of my life.

My shrink gave me breathing exercises and a mantra to recite, in these situations: "All is well." At times, it works.

But not now. Not today, nor for the past several weeks. I don't know why. There is no "why" to it. We are, all of us, dragging our crosses up Calvary Hill.