I wonder what it is about me that allows tiny, imagined problems or complications to take on ominous, imagined proportions.
I wonder what it is about my mind.
Because I am not my anxious thoughts
Though I feel very much so on occasion
I wonder if it really could be just a matter of habit
Years of neurological grooves and synapses
Habits of thinking gone rogue
For someone who values logic and thoughtful inquiry
I can be somewhat random and childish in my approach to uncertainty
I understand it intellectually, the futility of circular thinking,
It is putting it into practice that is uneven and choppy
It is an intermittent phenomenon
For years, sometimes, I rise above or around or under these agitated propensities
Then I drift back to the patterns of my youth
To a time when I gained knowledge but lacked wisdom
I now have perspective
Context and hope
So, there’s that
I do believe I often stumble upon the center, the calm, the way to the path to wisdom
But I struggle with something,
It impedes my progress
I wonder what it is.