A recent psychological study suggested a positive correlation between IQ and anxiety: The smarter you are, the more you worry.
This hardly qualifies as earth-shaking news. I've always thought that, if you're not worrying, you're not paying attention. I find myself thinking about this now, though, as I wrestle with vague feelings of non-specific dread. I imagine this is largely a function of it being Sunday: The imminence of a new work-week often engenders a sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach, a leaden fuzziness in the brain, a slight ringing in the ears. . . . Y'know, now that I write this, I hope this is just anxiety; otherwise, I probably have some kind of tumor.
But seriously, folks.
The funny thing is, this dread has occurred throughout my life, regardless of what was going on. I remember during the early '90's, watching "In Living Color" on Sunday nights, laughing but also struggling with an awareness that this was pretty much the last bit of enjoyment I was going to experience before having to drag myself out of bed less than twelve hours later to begin another stressful week of college classes and student-teaching and just, y'know, life. Back then, I would tell myself that this dread would pass--that once I got through the trials of those days, things would get better.
And they have gotten better. I mean, I basically like my job. I like my co-workers. And some days I even get the opportunity to go home feeling like I've had a positive impact on the world around me. And yet the dread persists. Ignorance may be bliss, but isn't it stupid to keep subjecting myself to dread for no particular reason?