On Worry

What my father taught me about fear, action, and the future we imagine too early

A few weeks before I graduated from Michigan State University, I went to my dad for advice. I don’t remember knocking or sitting down; I just remember the feeling of coming apart, and the way I kept turning my car keys over in my hand. “Dad, I’m a mess.” He didn’t flinch. He just asked, “What’s going on?”

I told him everything in one breath, like I was trying to stay ahead of it. “On Thursday I turn twenty-one. Friday I pick up my first car. Saturday is graduation. The next Friday I marry Sarah. Then a two-week honeymoon. Then we pack everything we own in our new car and drive to New York so I can start my first real job.” I shook my head. “It’s too much. Everything’s happening at once.”

He listened the way he always did: quietly, patiently, without trying to patch anything mid-sentence. When I finally stopped talking, he nodded once and said, “Jim, I think you’re just worried.”

“Just worried?” I practically exploded. “Dad, everywhere I look I see danger. We don’t have a place to live. N…