Pat doesn’t worry about me. At first, I was hurt, but soon I understood.
It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s that he knows I’ll be alright.
And this is enough to make me believe that I’ll be alright too.
Pat doesn’t worry about me. At first, I was hurt, but soon I understood.
And this is enough to make me believe that I’ll be alright too.
Some of us enjoy worrying about you, which of course is strictly feeding into our nuture-deficit, so you don’t have to feel guilty or anything; nor does it imply that we presume you are a netless Jackass IV candidate. It just feels right in an unstoppable way.
Interesting. I suppose the enjoyment of being worried about someone comes from showing you care about them, as a form of expression.
Me, I hate it when people worry about me. That somehow gives me the unwritten obligation to worry about them back.
I guess whether someone often worries about you has to do with whether he or she is a carefree person in the first place.
I used to agree that there was some feeling of obligation, but I think of it in terms of love now. If you love someone, they have no obligation to love you back. Unfortunately, I learned that the hard way.
Your comment made me reconsider Pat’s attitude, and I realize that he’s a somewhat carefree person. Maybe this has something to do with it as well.
This is a good thing — your friend Pat understands that you know how to take care of yourself and you’re not falling into a hole.
I have some friends I worry about because they repeat patterns and don’t even acknowledge there’s a pattern going on. Others lie to themselves and to me about situations, and it’s troubling.
But some friends, even when they’re in the fire, are so aware of their danger that they will get themselves out. So I don’t worry about them. But I’m there for them should they ever need me.
I was at WTC on 9/11. I had a close friend tell me she wasn’t worried for me, because she knew I’d escape. That’s a damn vote of confidence, even if it was more for her own sanity.
C’est une bonne chose.
I’m thinking it stems from an uncontrollable urge to feel necessary in some kind of social context. Besides being right, good, moral, wot wot, etc.
@Zaira — I guess the strange part is that even I feel like I don’t know how to take care of myself. Not all the time, at least. I’m dependent on my friends for many things.
I suppose my desire to improve and learn means that I won’t make the same mistake twice though.
It’s quite a compliment for someone to say that they weren’t worried about you on 9/11, something reserved for true survivors. I know I wouldn’t have made it at ground zero.
@Xibee — Ah yes, never underestimate the value of feeling necessary, even if it’s us who try to create the necessity.