Illustration: Jen Troyer
Did I remember to bring in a bag of pretzels and 25 (not 24!) juice boxes to my son’s school? Did I ask my husband about the tax-return deadline? And will I ever, ever be at some point in my life where I’ll have the two hours to myself needed to go into town and buy a needle for my busted record player? These are the worries I have on any given day. They are little worries. They are not about the fate of the planet or the course of my future. One might even say that they are trivial. And yet under them hide larger, lifelong worries (mine: being a lousy mom; suffering financial ruin because I was not in charge of every single goddamn thing in our household; becoming a boring person who no longer listens to records or music at all).