Scout is smart for her age. By the time she goes to school, she can already read. Her teacher, instead of being amazed, sees her as a threat—to the other children but also to herself. When she is told to “tell her father to stop teaching her at home,” which he never has, she realizes for the first time: “What I have is precious, and there are people out there who’d take it away from me.”
It is at this point in To Kill a Mockingbird that Harper Lee issues a profound observation through her six-year-old protagonist: “Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.”
This idea has two implications: For one, love and worry go hand in hand. If you’re not at least a little concerned about losing what you have, chances are you don’t love it—or, more importantly, them—all that much.
For another, a small-minded teacher attacking a child might make us realize that we needn’t justify what comes naturally. Scout happened to sit on her father’s lap when he was reading the newspaper for so many hours, eventually, she picked up the words. Why would she have to defend herself for continuing to collect more of them as she went along? In a way, when we justify what we do for its own sake, we’ve already lost. It’s not our job to comply with the world’s expectations.
When it comes to the people, activities, and experiences pulling at your heartstrings, don’t worry about being worried—and remember there’s no need to justify what comes as naturally as moving new air into your lungs.