The Part of Me That Worries
I made a New Year's resolution on January 1, 2026 that I couldn't keep. I resolved to stop worrying.
I've made resolutions and kept them before — things like exercise and diet. This worry resolution seemed like the best resolution I could make this year.
I kept it a couple of days. I did pretty well for the first couple of weeks. Somewhere around February or March I fell off the wagon completely. And now, in May, I think I understand why.
Why are resolutions so hard to keep? Especially when related to deeply ingrained habits?
I think it's because the part of me that worries is not the part that made that resolution. I've read that if you were to zoom in on a table, once you've zoomed in enough, you would find more space than matter. So what I view as one table is actually a community of atoms, arranged in space, in such a way that when zoomed out, a table appears.
I can put a cup on it. And yet, there is no "it." I think the same is true of us. Zoom in enough, and there's more space than there is "me." Zoom out, and one person seems to appear... but it's not just one person. I am a collection. A community of atoms, of memories, of impulses.
What would happen if we were to honor the community within ourselves?
I know that sounds strange. But zoom out a little more, and all these individual people become a nation. Zoom out more, and they become the human race. Zoom out more, and they merge with creation. Matter. It appears singular zoomed out. It contains more space than matter when zoomed in.
Maybe it's not so simple as deciding to try harder to be this or to be that. Maybe those decisions are above our pay grade. Maybe I can't stop some part of myself from worrying — at least not without having to somehow cut it off from myself completely, if that were even possible. So where does that leave me when worry comes up, and my resolution lets me down?
For one, it leaves me exactly where I am. Resolution or not, self judgment or not.
It's sort of like a country — I can want things to be different. And I definitely can work to make them better. But at the end of the day, I am one part of a larger organism that will only change when the whole thing decides it wants to.
I worried today. My resolution failed. Now what?
One option is to beat myself up. To label myself as a failure. To try harder next time not to worry. Another is to just be where I am, who I am, what I am — whatever that happens to be in this moment. I can notice the worry, and instead of banishing it, I can love it. Be curious about it. Feel it. Maybe even learn from it. I can let the space remain. For worry, for fear, for doubt, for anger, for joy, for love.
I don't know the answer. I appreciate discipline and the way that it can serve my values and my goals. But I'm also learning to appreciate freedom. To just be where I am. To be what I am. To not have to control it. Or understand it. But to trust that all things living are moving. And all things moving are changing and growing. And maybe my job is not to control it or direct it.
Maybe my job is to let go and enjoy the ride.