You can put the worry down for a minute

Worry pretends it’s useful. If I keep turning this over, it says, I will prevent the worst. Sometimes you’re only exhausting the hands that still have to live the day.

Put it down for a minute. Not forever. A minute. The hammock isn’t solving the terrace. It’s holding a body. You can be held that simply — a chair, a wall, a few breaths that don’t have a plan.

When the minute is over, pick up only what is yours. One next thing. Not the whole imagined year.

If worry has become a cage you cannot open — nights without sleep, a body that won’t settle — this page is too small. Go to Help. A person, not a hammock.