Do you worry?

About money. About your team. About next year.

About time slipping through your fingers faster than you expected.

Well, me too.

Worrying isn’t very fun.

It isn’t especially productive either.

And yet telling someone not to worry—despite what Bobby McFerrin might wish—rarely helps.

Worry doesn’t respond to commands. It doesn’t leave because it’s been shamed or scolded away.

So I’ve been sitting with a different question:

What does worry want?

There’s a physical metaphor hidden right in the word itself.

The root of worry traces back to the 13th century: wirien—to seize by the throat, to bite and shake, to injure by holding on too tightly.

To ask, “What’s worrying you?” is, in a very real sense, to ask:

What has you by the throat right now?

Worry tightens. It constricts breath.

It narrows our vision until the world feels smaller, harsher, more urgent than it really is.

Yet there's another, older meaning woven into the word.

Think about what happens when you worry a piece of cloth between your fingers. You work it. You bend it. At first, the fabric softens—becomes more supple, more workable.

The fibers loosen enough to be felt, exposing the structure beneath.

Push too far and it will fray and tear, but before the breaking point something important happens:

the cloth gives.

This is what worry asks of us, too.

To not fight it.

To soften into what has us by the throah. The bend with it, just enough.

When we do, we invite noticing:

What am I actually afraid of?

What feels at risk here?

What matters enough that my body is clenching to protect it?

From that place, something subtle but powerful opens up.

Not answers, necessarily.

But choice.

Softening doesn’t make worry disappear.

It gives us room to breathe while we’re being held.

And sometimes, that’s enough to show us the way out.

That's where we'll leave things as we close out this year—with a little more breath, a little more room, and the knowledge that whatever has you by the throat, you don't have to face it by yourself.

We'll see you in 2026.

—From the team here at Moementum

P.S. We're building something new for the year ahead—The Human Systems Guild. If you're curious what it might be, write back with your best guess. We'd love to hear what you imagine.