Recently, I have struggled with the silent anxieties I ruminate about. The buildup of fear is a bubbling cauldron with a lid unable to contain the contents underneath.

• Will I hit my financial goals this month?
• Will the cats ever stop fighting?
• When will I make the time to text the guys I grew up with, my buds from Penn State, Tom, and others?
• Is my work worthy of generating the revenue I dream about?
• Should I grow my hair out?
• What time is the train to DelCo next week?
• When will I make time to pick up my ‘script at the CVS, which is a 30+-minute walk away; go to the hardware store; read more of the books and mags in my apartment; . . . ?

The list would span pages if I allowed myself to meander my task list mindlessly. Instead, as items become less immediate, I try to focus on something — an object, a thought — that makes me smile. And I take action.

Pondering is procrastinating. Doing trumps deliberation.

I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened. Worrying is like paying a debt you don’t owe. I have spent most of my life worrying about things that have never happened.

Mark Twain