“I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.”  – Mark Twain

I saw the preceding quote this morning, on John O’Leary-Rising Above’s Facebook page. It made me chuckle. Mostly because of something that actually happened last night.

I’m not sure if it was terrible. It seemed sort of terrible at the time. You be the judge.

I was working on what I thought would be my next blog post. But I was really tired. I kept writing and rewriting. I was making silly mistakes. I started going down one path and then thought maybe I should head down another. I was copying, cutting, deleting, sorting and deleting some more. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I started to feel a twinge of frustration. So I decided it was time to put it down. That’s when the sort of terrible thing happened. Instead of hitting “save draft” I clicked “publish.”

I could hear the “Oh no!” in slow motion in my head. I imagined my numerous followers (like eight whole people) getting the email notification that I had published something new. In a matter of seconds, I actually heard the ding on my husband’s phone. (He’s one of my followers. Full disclosure: I subscribed on his behalf.) Anyway, I ran to check his inbox. And it was there. “Oh no!”

I returned to my laptop and quickly deleted the unfinished post. But it was too late. Those few paragraphs of really tortured writing were out there. Would this be the end of my blog? Would I get phone calls and emails from dissatisfied readers? Had I lost all WordPress credibility? What would people think?

I grabbed my phone and got in the middle of a group text with siblings, nieces and nephews. “Hey – I accidentally hit ‘publish’ instead of ‘save draft’ so you may get a notice that there’s a new blog post. That’s a mistake – sorry! It won’t be complete until tomorrow or Friday. Sorry!”

Crickets. Then came what I interpreted as an enthusiastic “OK!” and thumbs up emoticon from my niece, Brittni. Phew!

What else should I do? Should I post something on Facebook? Do I need to post an apology? Are there phone calls to be made? Crisis communication plans to consult?

Uncertain and perplexed, I did what I thought was best. I went to bed.

When I woke up, I saw John O’Leary’s Mark Twain quote I mentioned at the top of this post. I was reminded of last night’s fiasco. Perhaps it was a sign. If it was a sign, I needed to pay close attention. So I read John’s entire status update that accompanied the quote: “This one today for my friends who find themselves always worrying about what MIGHT happen…and you know who you are! Most of the things we worry about never happen…so let go of the worry today.”

Yes, I know who we are! I know who I am anyway. I’m a worrier.

I’m not just any worrier. I’m the queen of worry. If worry was a science I would have a PhD. They’d call me Dr. Worry.

I’m an equal opportunity worrier. I worry about everything. Except for NBA basketball. I used to be a fan – but not anymore.

I worry about my family. I worry about the world. I worry about the weather. I worry about highway driving. I worry about my feet getting bigger. I wear a size 12. Need I say more?

I worry about my work. I do communications for a nonprofit organization. We have almost 5,000 subscribers to our e-communications. Before I hit “send” on any e-blast, a wave of worry punches me in the stomach. What if I spelled something wrong? What if the inserted links don’t work? What if all 5,000 subscribers are so disgusted by another email they decide to unsubscribe. There’s always lots of pacing. Biting of fingernails. Worst case scenarios running through my head.

With the exception of my brother, Bruce, I think all of my siblings are worriers.

There’s no comfort in that shared trait. Nope. I worry about my siblings being worriers. Worry = stress. Stress leads to sickness. I think you can see where this is going.

Getting back to last night’s publishing error, this morning, my brother, Bruce, responded to my text. He was reassuring, “Your draft showed up in my inbox…it was short, but interesting. Maybe it could be a future subject, the power of the ‘publish’ button. Maybe you can do a part 2 on practical jokes.” Spoken by someone who hasn’t a worry in the world.

Seriously though, I’ve gotten better about dealing with the worry. I’ve developed a strategy for coping. It’s not fool-proof, but it is effective about 79.7% of the time. Believe it or not, I developed this strategy during a very stressful period.

Several years ago, a family member was going through a rather serious health crisis. Let me say upfront that all is fine now. This family member is in great health. And he’s put that experience behind him. That’s why I am not mentioning him by name.

But back then, we weren’t quite sure. It was really scary. There were so many unknowns. He was being poked, prodded and tested for a variety of things, including a possible brain tumor. All the while he maintained an upbeat and positive attitude. He made jokes. He took care of others. He was a great patient. He did what the doctors and nurses told him to do. He was amazingly strong.

During one hospital stay, the doctor ordered a CT scan. When it was time for the scan, a nurse took him down to the test area in a wheelchair. The testing area was busy. He would have to wait.

There were lots of people waiting, including a patient who started expressing concern about a rash. This patient had a rash on his arm. He didn’t know why he had a rash. The longer this patient waited, the more vocal he became about said rash. He was clearly distressed. And he wanted everyone to know it. “Do you see this rash? What kind of rash do you think it is? Why do you think I have this rash? How do you treat a rash? Have you ever had a rash? Rash. Rash. Rash.”

I wasn’t present in that waiting room, but I immediately empathized with those sitting near Mr. Rash when I heard this story. I felt for those patients dealing with serious ailments and those, like my family member, who were working to get confirmed diagnoses. If only they had a rash…

You know, as I reflect on it right now, it’s almost as bad as having to put up with someone whining and fretting about a failed blog post when there are so many more pressing matters in this world. Right?

Anyway, when it was time for my family member’s CT scan, the nurse wheeled him by the man with the rash. My family member made eye contact with Mr. Rash and said, “Let me see that rash. Oh my gosh. That’s the same rash I had right before they found this brain tumor.”

My family member was kidding, of course. And think what you will of his remark. He was just trying to insert a sense of perspective to the situation. It was just a rash.

For the last several years, I’ve used “It’s just a rash” as a means of combatting worry. When I need that little voice inside my head to talk me off the ledge, I have it say, “It’s just a rash.”

So last night, when I accidentally hit “publish” instead of “save draft,” did I really spin wildly out of control? No, not really. OK – I did for a few minutes. But then reality struck. “It was just a rash.”