“Don’t worry” is the empathy of dipshits. You may as well tell people, I don’t care about you, but I need to say something to pretend I do.
“I am not worried.”
“It’s okay to pee under the shower.”
“I don’t pee under the shower, that’s disgusting, what made you say that, ew, who does that?”
“I hope you get stung by a jellyfish and have to roll in your piss.”
Worries are the sands of time. Under the right conditions, a beach, and under the wrong, a desert. The failure to develop an indifference to worries has doubled human shelf-life, however shit-faced we look at the end of it — to a point where our greatest worry is whether our phone can hear us pee under the shower.
Worries fill the spaces of thought and become the brain plaque in our effort to think clearly. The mumbling monotony of worries is not so much its futility as much as its deception. Worries give you a feeling of control where you have none. They make you believe you are getting something done when you are tripping on your self-hatred. And nothing’s more persuasive in convincing you about your bring the face of all life on this planet when the truth is, you are one-thousandth of a single pixel in earth’s dickpic.
Together worries accomplish something pious: they make sure you continue to live in your head.
In its extreme, this becomes anxiety. Tangent on anxiety: It’s a real condition I don’t want to make frivolous by flushing down the social media toilet, so here’s a tangent on tangent: Social media is to millennials what baby boomer parents are to their children; if you screw up your life, you blame it on them, but your parents are doing just fine and according to the last status update, you are still leeching off them.
When we talk about our attention shrinking, we are talking about the number of thought spirals available to us. The extravagance of this century is that you get to pick your neurosis. It’s why our antidote to boredom is more choice. It’s why a worry-free state resembles boredom. And we hate that state.
Because who are you without your worries?
Even your state of success depends on the number of things you are worried about, publicly. It’s why reality seems warped all the time. Despite living in one of the most placid times, it feels like waking up in a dystopia. And that’s because everything has started to happen in our heads: accomplishments, failures, embarrassments, not to mention, the boundless self-assurance about sex. You don’t have the attention span to handle a threesome.
This heady dystopia is not the outcome of the news, as it’s often made out to be. It’s the other way around. To get you to watch the news, they appeal to your worries. Your head. Because that’s where you live. It’s why the news has no incentive to give a shit about what’s happening in reality.
Happiness has become synonymous with ephemera because there’s only so long we can live in the gap between our worries. You are not going to magically stop worrying. But since you got so desperate we had to go back four thousand years and start all over again with hating meditation.
Meditation is peddled as a worry-free state when it is a judgement-free state and there’s a good chance none of us are going to get there because, c’mon, you read that sentence and went: I am totally judging you. So before I throw up, let’s talk about something light, like Death, worry’s soulmate.
Death is the ultimate spiral, the post-mortem of time. The sadness about death has to do with the people we are leaving behind, unless you are a YouTuber, in which case it’s about how less impressive the world will be after you are gone.
But you really see the depth of this spiral when you start playing out everyone else’s death. It’s an unpleasant experience as far as worries go, and you can use that experience to go deeper or get to the surface and get out of your head, although briefly.
It’s why death now is more a thought experiment to learn the meaning of acceptance, and the deception of worries. Death makes you sad because that’s when you finally begin to love. The shortness of life is both hopeful and hopeless because you can’t change everyone you love in the limited time left, but it still doesn’t stop you from trying.
Your apocalypse is not that you live at the cost of everyone else, but that you discover how to live only after everything’s over.
You are not going to remember your worries, but you are going to remember all the things you missed out on while you were worrying. All the things that lived and died inside your head while everything you could be went unsaid, unasked, unknown. This is what we call regrets. The knowledge that you could’ve known life only if you weren’t so busy looking for it. You were so intent on leaving behind your footsteps through the sands of time, you never felt the breeze.
So the point I am trying to make is, don’t worry, it’s totally okay to pee under the shower.