Worry

“Bumps, bumps, bumps! I will never sleep tonight!”

In Strange Bumps, Owl is going to sleep when he sees two bumps under his blanket at the end of his bed. He lifts his blanket, but cannot see anything in the dark. He tries to sleep, but worries the bumps will grow bigger if he does. He wiggles his feet, the bumps move. He throws off his blanket, the bumps vanish. In confusion and fear he jumps on his bed, yelling at these mysterious bumps, until his bed collapses. He hurries downstairs to sleep in his chair, where he feels safe, letting the bumps stay on his bed.

It is remarkable how blowing out a candle or turning off the lights can abruptly alter our vision. Something we hadn’t given any attention we suddenly can’t ignore. The day we were trying to leave behind won’t let us go just yet. So we sit there, like Owl, trying to figure out what we are looking at and worrying what will happen if we don’t. The moment we were hoping to relax becomes uncontrollably tense. Before a test, after a tough day at work, during a big decision or recent tragedy, these types of nights show up. Then there are nights, like Owl, where fear sets in over a lot less.

“Owl pulled all of the covers off his bed. The bumps were gone. All Owl could see at the bottom of the bed were his own two feet.”

If Owl could just take a deep breath and relight his candle he might see that his own self is causing his anxiety; his own feet his worry. In my own life my worry is typically self-generated, like Owl, and hard to recognize. There is a real invitation in this story to humorously let go of this type of worry. When I read this book to my children they are giggling by the time Owl is jumping on his bed. For they can see how silly it is to be scared of your feet. But this luxury of being a degree removed allows them to see with more curiosity and less trepidation. And that makes all the difference. To find a space inside yourself to curiously step back — to stop fidgeting and shifting blankets — and slow the imagination so you can truly and fully see yourself.

“What if those two strange bumps grow bigger and bigger while I am asleep?” said Owl. “That would not be pleasant.”

Now, there are certainly times that we find the courage to do this, to cease the dread and wade past the “what ifs”, and we still end up in a sea of stress. Some worry is real. Or perhaps we are like Owl, unable to be brave or calm and would prefer to yell and jump on the bed. In either case the strange bumps don’t have to have the final say — we can retreat to somewhere safe. This isn’t giving up, or losing, but making sure we get the rest we need. The story would be quite sad if Owl remained in his bedroom all night, never sleeping. Owl invites us to let go of the bumps by just letting them be — over there. We can figure them out another night.

“Owl ran down the stairs. He sat in his chair near the fire. ‘I will let hose two strange bumps sit on my bed all by themselves’ said Owl. ‘Let them grow as big as they wish. I will sleep right here where I am safe.’ And that is what he did.”

May you have eyes to see in the dark, to recognize your worry and identify it’s source — robbing it of its power. May curiosity, not fear, be your companion as your navigate the labyrinth of your being. May you not be frustrated if your worry lingers; for you are not bound to it’s schedule. But may you always have a soft chair to sit on, a safe place to withdraw to and a dear friend to be with you.

All quotes from Owl at Home, Copyright © 1975, by Arnold Lobel