I’m one of the lucky few who doesn’t suffer from anxiety. (My wife is not.)
I get anxious, of course, but I don’t suffer from chronic anxiety that poisons my thoughts and affects my everyday behavior. Most of the time my anxiety is relegated to those dark, forbidding hours in the middle of the night when I wake up in a panic about my strained bank account or my spotty career record or my kid’s bullying issues or my wife’s health challenges. During waking hours, I usually avoid getting weighed down by those kinds of pressures.
And then I decided to sign a book contract.