Are You Anxious About Being Anxious?

Mitch Arnold • October 23, 2023

Last week, one of my clients invited me to visit her office, and my reaction, like always whenever I consider going someplace new, was immediate anxiety. I’m not anxious about how she will react to my obvious handicap – I got over that fear decades ago. Now, I just worry if I can navigate the terrain.


Anxiety like that is something that I experience almost daily. Because I’m prone to falls, I must be cautious, and avoid unnecessary risks, but, because I need to experience life, I also must be courageous enough to accept some risk. It’s that fine line that creates the anxiety, and it’s something that all of us face to some degree. The greater challenge is not becoming anxious about being anxious.


There is risk any time we leave our comfort zones. When we apply for a job, ask someone out for a date or try something new, we expose ourselves to risk, and that creates anxiety. Leaving our comfort zones is also necessary to living a full and rewarding life, so we must be willing to accept some risk. Unfortunately, we often choose to avoid risk at any cost, because we know that anxiety comes with any risk, and we don’t want to be anxious.


When we become anxious about being anxious, we slowly strangle the joy out of our lives. The pandemic we lived through a few years back was a stark reminder of that. During that weird time, “experts” recommended, and actually enforced, anxiety. Don’t leave your home unless absolutely necessary, they told us, and if you do leave your home, limit your contact with other people. Some of us heeded that warning, while others accepted whatever risk they were comfortable with, and continued to live their lives. Though I tended toward the latter, I eventually quit looking forward to travel and other outings, as I didn’t want to expose myself to worrying about something getting in the way of those plans. I had become anxious about being anxious.


I experienced something similar with a goal I have had for some time. For the past couple of years, I have wanted to publish a book that I have written once and revised countless times, but publishing a book brings enormous risk and anxiety. It’s much easier to nurture the dream of writing a successful novel than it is to actually put the work out there and see how others react, so I have procrastinated with that final step while obsessively editing the manuscript. I became anxious about being anxious, and that has held me back for far too long.


Inspired by a friend who published his first novel last year, I recently changed my thinking and took the next step by hiring a professional to help me finally put my work into print. Now, I’m not only risking my ego, I’m also risking a significant financial investment. With my money, time and ego tied up in the project, I’m anxious, but no longer anxious about being anxious, and that’s liberating. If all goes according to plan, my book, Marginal, should be available for purchase by the end of the year. It might not win me a Pulitzer or land on a best sellers list, but it wouldn’t even have a chance if I didn’t risk the anxiety that is coming my way.


Our time on this earth is limited, and we shouldn’t limit our enjoyment of that time with unnecessary anxiety. Take that trip. Apply for that dream job. Try a new hobby. Share a hidden talent. Start that business. Things might not work out the way you want, but then again, they might! You’ll never know unless you try. Don’t let anxiety about being anxious keep you from trying.

People Think We Shouldn’t Be Friends

By Mitch Arnold • February 15, 2026
Most of my closest friendships go back decades, and they are with people who are a lot like me. Because we grew up in similar environments and share similar backgrounds, my friends and I also share fairly consistent perspectives on the world and current issues. If we differ, it’s usually only slightly. Vernon was a notable exception. Vernon came from a much different background than I, and that made his perspective unique and valuable to me. Despite our differences, we learned over the decades that we had more in common than we could have imagined. I met Vernon in the late 1990s, when I was working in public relations at a historically black university (HBCU), North Carolina A&T State University. He was 15 years older than me, and a consummate professional, not to mention, a snappy dresser. He was always in a suit, and took his work in research administration very seriously. Initially, he intimidated me and I amused him. Not many people on campus looked like me. Fewer came from a background like mine. As a white guy who grew up in the rural Midwest and whose previous job was teaching at a Catholic school in Nebraska, I was very much a minority. Additionally, I was a Republican, and there weren’t many of those around either. I thought of Vernon during the noise surrounding this year’s Super Bowl halftime show. If we still worked down the hallway from each other, one of us surely would have stopped by the other’s office to share perspectives and try to make sense of the controversy. That conversation would have ended, like they all did, with some good-natured humor and a laugh. Decades have passed since Vernon and I worked together. In that time, I moved back to Nebraska and Vernon eventually retired. Still, we kept in touch with phone calls at least once per year. “It’s your white Republican friend from Nebraska” is how those calls usually started. He would follow by asking me again where Nebraska is, and what I thought of the current political landscape. Though clearly incongruent politically, never did we argue or take up sides against each offer. Mostly what we learned from each other is that we weren’t all that different and that often what we assumed wasn’t always the case. Vernon was very much a capitalist and more socially conservative than most Republicans, including me. Jokingly, I once accused him of being a Republican, because a lot of what he said didn’t fit my narrative of a Democrat. Likewise, he was surprised when I told him that I wasn’t a fervent supporter of President Trump. “You’re a unique man,” he said. I told him that I really wasn’t. Like most people on both sides, I valued many of the things he did, like strong family values and a strong economy. We just differed on the role that government should play on those issues. In one particularly poignant exchange, Vernon said, “People would look at us and think that we shouldn’t be friends.” Initially, his comment made me sad; however, I stepped back and thought about it further. In a world that seems intent on separating and categorizing people, it’s important that we remain friends and prioritize our similarities over our differences. I would have enjoyed a conversation with Vernon about the Super Bowl Halftime Show controversy, and imagine that he would have told me that he didn’t watch either show, but I didn’t get that opportunity. Vernon passed away in his sleep last spring. Even though he’s gone, his voice will never leave me. When I see efforts to divide our great nation into sides, I’ll always think of Vernon and strive to have friendships like the one I had with him, even when people think that we shouldn’t be friends. 

Prioritizing Memories

By Mitch Arnold • December 6, 2025
I lost two uncles in twelve days last month, the second passing away hours after we buried his younger brother. Neither death was particularly surprising, as they were 79 and 84, and struggling with their health. Still, even though we sensed that the end was near, the suddenness with which it occurred was jarring. Most of don’t spend much time thinking about the end – not just the end of our lives, but of the lives around us – and that’s probably a good thing. What isn’t good is thinking we have unlimited time, and wasting the days we have with each other. Though we shouldn’t dwell in morbidity, we also shouldn’t squander opportunities to make memories with those who are important to us. Just a few short months ago, Lynda and I made a trip to Ord to see my now deceased uncles . With travel, that effort consumed most of a Saturday, but it was one of the best Saturdays I’ve had in a while. I enjoyed it so much that, as we drove back, I told Lynda that we should plan to do it again next summer. Unfortunately, there won’t be a next trip to see those two. That’s a sad fact, but I’m thankful for the memories we made on that trip, memories that will stick with me for the rest of my life, and I’m thankful that I didn’t put off the trip. Daily life often gets in the way of living life. We fill our days with have-tos and need-tos, often running at a frenzied pace that clouds the beauty around us, but how much of that do we really have to or need to do? How much will matter when we look back on our years? Coincidentally, when I returned from the first funeral, my 24-year-old daughter showed me a plastic bag of my childhood memories that she had uncovered while looking for something else. In the bag were things that I had stashed away because they were important to me at that time in my life. A lot of the memorabilia was related to various family vacations we took in the early 1980s. Back then, if you wanted to capture a memory, you could take a picture with an old camera, hope that you got it right and wait until you got the pictures back from a developer or you could buy a 20-cent postcard and grab some free brochures. I did a lot of the latter, and had loaded that bag with brochures and postcards from places like Reptile Gardens and Wall Drug in South Dakota. Also in the bag were trading cards from movies and television programs like Grease, The Dukes of Hazzard and Dallas, and obscure sports cards with no market value. While I enjoyed a few minutes of flipping through stuff I hadn’t seen in decades, it mostly just obscured more meaningful memories. Among the clutter were autographs I had collected from my sports idols, postcards a friend sent to me with notes from her travels, a letter that another friend wrote to me while undergoing treatment for leukemia and a prayer card from his funeral just a few months later. On the lighter side, I had stashed away a citation awarded to me by a Loup City policeman in recognition of my efforts with an ill-advised fireworks display on the last day of my eighth-grade year! My daughter particularly enjoyed that one. As I browsed through the contents of the bag, I created three piles on my desk: definitely keep, maybe keep and probably throw away. I also thought about how I would feel if I were to go through the bag in my golden years, which are getting closer every year. If the important things were still obscured by the junk, would I just throw the whole thing away without even looking for those treasures? That motivated me to focus on what will always matter – memories tied to people. Sadly, I hadn’t visited Ord for years, but last week, I made my third trip of the year there to celebrate my uncle’s life, like I had just a couple of weeks earlier for his younger brother’s funeral. While the last two trips were for somber occasions, I’m glad that I didn’t skip the first one. I had other things to do that Saturday, but nothing more important than making memories with loved ones. photo above, July 2025: my dad Harold on the left, his oldest brother Roger (middle), and next oldest brother Don (right)