By Anna Boone

Throughout my life, I have developed one motto that seems to work for me best: Do not over-think it.

I can completely overanalyze my situations until it causes me physical and mental anguish happened not too long ago. Just like any other morning, I was up before the sun and contentedly munching away on my Bite-Sized Frosted Wheaties when I heard a cat yowl outside the window. I put down my spoon and began to think.

I cannot remember adults saying in grade school that I had an overactive imagination, because I was never too good at imagining different worlds or making up strange creatures in my head. I was, however, amazing at making up possibilities that could actually happen. These possibilities can occasionally help me because they give me a very insightful look on what I believe the outcomes of my choices will be. Usually, however, I just begin picturing the very worst thing that could happen. So although I wasn’t scared when I first heard the cat, I soon was frightened after I convinced myself an ex-convict was outside slowly cutting off its tail.

I jumped back from the table, let out a huge, ear-splitting shriek, and ran, sobbing uncontrollably, down the hallway. I busted down my parents’ doorway and on my way in slammed my hip into their dresser. I collapsed on the floor and just bawled. While my parents tried to make sense of the overly-emotional mess in their room, the rational part of my brain tried to make sense of how I could completely overreact to something that hadn’t even scared me originally.

Just like the huge purple bruise on my side, the lesson I learned from that particular incident didn’t fade for some time. Whenever I found it difficult to believe that I managed to convince myself of those crazy delusions all I had to do was poke my right hip and the throbbing would remind me that I certainly did believe it a little too well.

This is not the only incident where I have over-thought the situation, although, thankfully, it is the most extreme case. I am a very talkative person and this caused quite a few notes to be sent home with me in grade school. If I was lucky the note would come at the end of the day so I couldn’t sit in my seat and picture the reactions of my parents. If I wasn’t so lucky, then I would spend the whole day wondering how much time they would give me to pack before they kicked me out the door. Of course this never happened, but no matter how unreasonable my scenarios became I still would spend my schoolday bent over with the heavy feeling of guilt in my stomach.

Eventually I realized no matter what I did, things had a way of working themselves out. There was no point in imagining tons of different realities when none of them would even matter or could have affected my breakfast that fateful morning. Even if I had talked all the time the teacher was talking, there was nothing I could now do that would change the piece of paper demanding my parents’ signature I was now carrying in my bookbag.

Sometimes I still get caught up in the moment and begin thinking way too hard. I have to remind myself just to take a deep breath and slow down. Whenever my mind starts racing ahead thinking of the worst, I just close my eyes and force myself to think of the good too. I cannot change the outcomes. I can only forgive myself, remember the lesson that life has given me, and keep on moving forward with a positive outlook and bruise-free body.