I tend to overthink things. When I send a text message to somebody, and that person doesn't respond quickly, I think that I have somehow offended her. If I complete a blog post, publish it, and don't get any views, I think that it's not any good. If my son disappears from my sight in a public place, I think that he's been kidnapped. Overthinking, overthinking, overthinking.
Most of the time, the person to whom I send the text message had her phone turned off. The blog post gets 15 views after a couple days. My son is in the public restroom peeing. And my overthinking has only caused me stress. Nothing more.
Saint Marty needs to worry less, celebrate more.
The Gardener
by: Mary Oliver
Have I lived enough?
Have I loved enough?
Have I considered Right Action enough, have I
come to any conclusion?
Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?
Have I endured loneliness with grace?
I say this, or perhaps I'm just thinking it.
Actually, I probably think too much.
Then I step out into the garden,
where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,
is tending his children, the roses.
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