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Worrying is stupid, I know. But, I still do it way more than I should.

Lately, I've been worried about lots of things—mostly my career and money.

Worrying is so insanely self-defeating. Thinking about lack all the time only manifests the very thing we're afraid of.

So, I've started a new habit to help me get out of the old, self-destructive worry mode. (Thanks to a movie I saw called The Secret.)

Every day I get up and spend some time thinking about abundance. I imagine checks in my mailbox. I imagine depositing them. I think about exactly how it will feel. I get bored about 17 seconds later and start thinking about my car, my camera, my socks, or whether I'll get through my to-do list that day. But, I make it a point to bring my attention back to the things I want to see in my life—back to my imagination.

Some days I forget to do this exercise, I admit. And, even on the days I do it I sometimes end up worrying myself sick by the end of the day.

But, I've had this feeling that if I just kept it up it would work.

Why shouldn't it? It worked for every other cool thing I've ever accomplished. I'd never made a high-production pop album before, but I imagined it and I did it. I'd never managed an accomplished recording artist before, but I thought of what it would be like and it happened. And, I surely had no idea how to travel around the USA and stay readers of my blog and write a book about it. It happened anyways.

In all of these cases I pretty much had no idea how I'd pull it off or how it would all actually happen. But, it did—every time. It seems like the universe doesn't care what we actually know how to do. The only thing that matters is what we can imagine. The details seem to work themselves out.

I've been a big, dumb worry wart the last week. I've been so anxious that I had to stop and make long lists of things I'm thankful for just to stay sane.

But, I still dream. I dream of my book getting published. I dream of seeing the lines on either side of my stomach again. I dream of a spoken word CD and telling my stories on This American Life. I dream of a hideous, wedge-shaped, bright-yellow 1970's Ferrari 308GT4—an impractical, homely, and obnoxious car that only I would want.

As if my current Bertone-designed car isn't stupid, angular, and ugly enough. So, clearly the only smart thing to do is to aim for an even less practical, uglier, more expensive, angular Bertone car—such as this Ferrari 308 GT4.

I dream of speaking another language fluently. I dream of paying for my family to live richly when they can't support themselves. I dream of an abundant living from my art and music.

I think dreaming is a form of prayer, really. You dream of things and they come to you. It's sort of like the crazy stuff they taught us in Sunday school—except without guilt, judgment, or complicated religion.

I checked my mail today. I was worrying about bills and stupid junk mail I'd have to recycle. Instead I got a check from my performing rights organization for songwriting royalties. My songs got played some in Sweden, and they owed me $339.60.

It's not like it's any amazing amount of money. It won't pay my rent. (When I think about it, it's the smallest check I've gotten from ASCAP. I got way more when my song was used in that show Passions.)

But, in this time of insecurity it really fills me with confidence and energy when I get paid for my art. And, it makes dreaming so much easier when I see little bits of the dream come true.