If you had asked the teenage me if I'd still be worrying about all the idiotic things I worried about as a youngster, I'd have likely replied, "Is there another way?" To worry, to churn, to ruminate - it has been more than a headspace for me; it is a state of being. Most of the time it just wastes a perfect opportunity for a good day, but the occasional unlocking of mystery or accurate prediction keeps the twisted train in motion. Yoga helps, definitely. Being outside. Talking, sometimes but less often right now (though I try hard to keep the opportunity in place on the off-chance that one day it reveals itself to be more helpful than the one-on-one conversations I have with myself at 3am). A good friend often asks me, "And how's that working for you?"
It's not really.
I'd love to find another way. I'd love to let go of whatever it is that keeps me weighted to this heavy load. I have spent so much of my life in worry that feels like being tumbled and tugged by undertow. Worry that feels just as natural as the sea itself with its force and sheer spread around the whole. In this way, it is no/a wonder I love the ocean - it feels an intrinsic environment.
I think most of it comes down to getting comfortable with the idea of disappointing people, myself included. Or maybe it comes before, in the setting up of expectation from self and others. There is positive work/life/relational ethic and there is self-destruction, and the two are mutually exclusive. They must be if we are to be free.