I remember my first anxiety attack. I was in my freshman year at high school, and it was a few days before we picked classes for sophomore year. I had come home from school with the long course catalog and was sitting on the couch with it in my lap. My mind started racing, overwhelmed by all the choices of classes I had in front of me. I’ve always been the kind of person who gets panicky when I feel overwhelmed by a big-picture process. 

Compared to the vast amount of choices, it felt like my schedule wouldn’t fit them all. Suddenly, I felt like the choices I made would have a great impact on the rest of my life; like somehow if I made the wrong choice of classes, my whole path would be altered. I felt ill-prepared to make a decision so soon. I hadn’t thought about the course of the rest of my life at fifteen years old. 

“Don’t be a yente.” 

That’s how my mother would scold me when I was a child and being meddlesome or a busybody. It was always a funny word that made me giggle, but the rebuke was there even if it was made in jest. ‘Yente’ is a yiddish word for a gossiper, which from what I can tell, became a more popular term from the play Fiddler on the Roof, the actual name of the matchmaker in the show that arranges the marriages for their small, Jewish village in Ukraine. 

This should give you a better picture if you’re unfamiliar with the term: a yente is a meddling gossip, a known busybody, or a tale-bearer. She always has a story and always has the latest word on who’s who and what’s what.