I like to think of myself as a relatively stable adult.

That’s mostly true. But sometimes I devolve into stress induced panic over things I’ve treated like existential crises.

Here are a few things my brain and I fought over this week:

• The strength of my voice in a loud restaurant 

• Whether my waiter thinks I’m aloof or an asshole

• A certain 30 minute meeting I had at work in mid-2025

• If people notice I hate eye-contact

• A hypothetical future conversation 

• How many books I’ll sell on publication day

• If people would like me more if I was more like one of the main characters in my novel 

• How people probably roll their eyes at most of my posts

• If I should try to change my entire personality 

• Whether my colleagues sensed my existential dread 

I would like to be clear, none of these things required further analysis.

And yet.

They occupied an unnecessarily disproportionate part of my waking thoughts this week, and prevented me from making meaningful progress in several important ventures. 

Anyway, I’m doing great.