THE AGE OF ANXIETY

In the U.S., it is estimated that over 40 million people suffer from an anxiety disorder, of which I am one amongst that statistic. I first put my own anxiety down to turning 50, and assumed it was a cocktail of worrying that I wasn’t on track to achieve much of anything in this world halfway through my time on it, mixed with holing up in my walk-in closet/pandemic office for a year plus, that was to blame. The craven populists hell-bent on detonating a bomb under the foundations of western democracy in order to build a new white utopia don’t make things any easier for this live-and-let-live centrist. Nor do the insufferably woke who believe those simply parroting the anatomy lessons they learned in school should have their livelihoods permanently ended.

Now, the spectre of nuclear annihilation is back from the 20th Century without, sadly, the soundtrack of much better music. It all became a little overwhelming for my niece, who doesn’t understand how bringing the world to the edge of apocalypse serves anyone’s purpose. My sister responded that this was an old record she’d learned to tune out in the 80s. Though, deep down, I am sure that like me, thoughts turn for my sister to how the hell do I protect my family from something beyond comprehension. And the great queen who consistently told us everything is going to be just fine is now gone, giving way to an age of paranoia and anxiety paralleled by the death of her namesake at the turn of the 17th Century.

Helplessness is the feeling that once crept into my daily, no hourly, life. When the powerless cease to feel hope, that’s when the yelling begins. Every small desecration of the sanctuary that is home – whether it be a lollipop between the cushions or cat litter between the toes – is a portent of the end of the world. It doesn’t help that just about every bit of entertainment on the flatscreen is steeped in dark conflicts, characterised by unrestrained ambitions achieved through sadistic cruelty or wandering alone in the wilderness looking for meaning where none beyond survival is given.

These are perilous times to be sure.

So how does one wade through the imagined consummation of Revelations to reach a more peaceful coexistence with stress? Well, it is absolutely not achieved on a single journey. But I did take my wife’s suggestion of getting professional help with how to tackle my own issues. Such help can delight the Freudian therapist to no end by opening a can of worms that dates back to our earliest days; that we have locked away in the pit of our stomach and for which we have swallowed the key. But who doesn’t struggle with insecurity in a world where so much is expected of the individual? What I found most practical was learning not to forecast.

Forecasting the weather isn’t an issue in Los Angeles… it will always be hot. But forecasting failure can bring on crippling anxiety that can make one question their very God-given talents. For me, through therapy, I was able to get to the root that eventually wound up the tree to where the limb snapped.

For most of my adult life, I had weathered any challenge to my sanity. The financial crisis was just another door opening. The stalling of an on-camera career was the beginning of one behind the camera. Even the pandemic was an opportunity to spend quality time with my family. However, it was one artistic endeavour that proved a turning point for me… where optimism turned to defeatism. For those writers reading this, they will understand when I say a second meeting with a development exec after applying his or her notes feels like the beginning of a beautiful relationship. It was when just such a meeting ended with the praising of my work and the implied offer of a deal, that the slog of years of ‘keeping at it’ despite the rejection had finally paid off.

‘I suppose all that’s left is for me to speak with your agent.’ Twenty minutes later, the agent called to relay what the development executive told him: ‘I could never take him into a room… nobody knows who he is.’ When the exec was asked why he had me do the work instead of being honest right from the start, the agent was lectured… it was his job to deliver honesty, not the exec’s responsibility.

My world crumbled a little that day, along with my faith in others. Could representatives in three countries be mistaken in their confidence in me? Was the proverbial ladder merely an illusion? I was certainly convinced of that after my unfortunate encounter. My self-belief spiraled downward in the years that followed, despite multiple small career highs. But, through counseling, I learned to treat both setbacks and victories alike… as imposters… and that living one’s best life is all that matters. Fortune-telling or forecasting outcomes belongs in a carnival tent. Nothing is written in the stars, and as almost every entrepreneur will tell you, the secret to their success was that they failed more than most of their contemporaries. I came to realise that every time I worried about the outcome of a deal, it was time I could have been spending with my children. That was the epiphany I had been searching for. For there will come that heartbreaking day when my offspring will need me to keep my distance as they seek out independent lives.

What then do we do about anxiety brought on by the threat of nuclear war? I started running 5k a day. I’m confident that if the world ends, I’ll be able to outrun the cannibals. But, seriously, what I have come to understand of late is that predicting disastrous outcomes is rooted in one’s own fears. Rarely is it indicative of the true state of affairs.

No one wants to push the button. But, just in case, potassium iodide tablets are still dirt cheap on Amazon (a positive sign). No, being prepared is not the same as fortune-telling!