It was the night before the night before I was leaving on a week-long trip to California. I woke super early, and then…the thoughts. Running through my head like a race car going at full speed around the track.
Lap one. Lap two. And on they went.
They seemed so monumental, these thoughts in my head. Not quite like the world was ending, but enough to keep me awake. Enough to make me feel anxious. So I wrote them down. Here’s a sampling of what I wrote.
Will I be able to sleep tonight and while I’m gone? (It’s not like I can do anything about it. And worrying will only make it worse.)
How to fit clothes for a week in as small a bag as possible. (How many years have I been traveling, including on a motorcycle? I think I know how to pack by now.)
The name tag on my bag still has my company address and phone number, even though I don’t work there anymore. (I don’t check the bag anyway, so what difference does it make?)
I don’t have what it takes to succeed at anything at this point. (You see how we so often go there – or at least I do?)
There were more, but I think you get the picture. These thoughts, which seemed so huge when in my head, were in 3 categories once I wrote them down:
- Silly and inconsequential
- Easily fixed
- Something I can’t control, so worrying won’t help anything
The worry was fruitless and took much more energy than just doing something. And yet that’s where my mind went. I didn’t ask it to, it just did.
Psalm 46 tells us to “Be still and know that I am God.” And for me that means to let my mind and heart be still. My imagination be still. Because one of the hallmarks of a creative person is that they can let their imagination run wild with all kinds of negative things, just as much as they can really cool new ideas. We can use that imagination for good – or not so good.
Sometimes it’s hard to turn it off, isn’t it? And yet, I somehow think that if I can, I might save some energy to imagine my next song. Blog post. How I could help someone else.
Maybe you experience these imaginings too. Maybe it even happens in the night or early morning, when you wish you were asleep. If so, know I’m thinking of you as I try to be still. Knowing you are too. And maybe if we practice that stillness, we might even get better at not letting these thoughts rob us of our rest. Our peace. And sometimes even our joy.
If nothing else works, try writing them down. You might even get a good laugh.
Have you ever been plagued by imaginings in the night? And then when you spoke or wrote them, they seemed silly or inconsequential? Leave a comment.
