I have two small children. They have many boogers. If there is something hanging out of one of their faces, I have a compulsive need to clean it off. I have pulled the largest, stringiest, grossest boogers out of their heads. Bare-handed. I’m a nitpicker, like a monkey.
“Why?” my husband asks me. “Why do you need to do that, right now, in front of me?”
I have many good answers, but only one true one: it feels really good to pick that terrible booger and remove it from my child. I feel a deep satisfaction like I have accomplished something. Worry gives the same feeling. Deep down, I am doing something. I am acting on this problem. Of course, the feeling is an illusion. But it is important to acknowledge that part of worrying feels good.
Unfortunately, in the end you’re stuck holding someone else’s booger.