I used to be a master of disaster. Not in the terrific, action-hero way, but in the lying awake at 2 a.m., replaying every possible future catastrophe like a broken film reel sort of way.
Didn’t matter what it was, a new job, a first date, or even just sending an email with too many recipients, I’d map out every scenario where it could implode. The human brain is creative, but mine? It was like a Pixar animation, only every plot ended in flames.
And then one day I realized: worst-case scenarios rarely happen. And even when they do, they don’t look the way you thought they would.
Fear Is a Terrible Investment
Here’s the truth that hit me like a slap in the face: fear is wasted energy. You spend hours, sometimes years, preparing for a disaster that never shows up, while completely missing the moment you’re actually living.
Think about it. How many times have you convinced yourself that the conversation with your boss was going to end with your job on the line? Instead, it’s usually some half-baked meeting about workflow. Or the flight you were sure would end in fiery doom? More likely, you sit next to someone who hogs the armrest and eats pretzels too loudly.
I’m not saying that nothing bad ever happens. Of course it does. But nine times out of ten, the “bad thing” looks different than what you rehearsed. And your rehearsals don’t help. Fear doesn’t give you superpowers; it just drains the ones you already have.
Lessons From Real Crashes
I used to race motocross. Which means I’ve literally crashed. Not “I spilled my latte on my shirt” crashed. I mean, body slammed into the dirt, gasping for breath, while the bike rolled a few feet further and coughed smoke.
Here’s the thing about real crashes: you don’t plan them. You can’t. No matter how many worst-case scenarios you play in your head, the actual crash comes at a different angle, a different speed, and with a different outcome.
One time, I was so convinced I’d wipe out on a particular corner that I braced every lap. Guess what? I never crashed there. I crashed on a straightaway, on a day I wasn’t even thinking about it. The irony stuck with me. Fear didn’t prevent anything; it just made me ride tense, stiff, and slower.
The day I stopped planning for crashes was the day I started riding smoother. More present. And weirdly, more resilient when the inevitable wipeout did happen. Because I wasn’t already exhausted from fearing it.
Humor in Letting Go
Somewhere along the way, I decided to laugh at my own imagination. When my brain started scripting disaster, I’d exaggerate it until it sounded absurd.
Miss a deadline? My inner narrator would announce that obviously meant exile, maybe forced to live in a cave. Forget someone’s name at a party? Surely the entire room would turn, torches in hand, chanting “IMPOSTER!”
Mocking those thoughts shrank them. Fear thrives in seriousness. Humor knocks it down a few notches.
And this isn’t just me. Readers of Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery (the book that pushed me to start writing these messy truths out loud) have said the same thing: the laughter is what lets the wisdom land. One review called it “the least preachy self-help I’ve ever encountered,” because it didn’t solemnly present life lessons. It cracked a joke instead, right when you needed it.
Letting go is a whole lot easier when you can laugh at yourself.
Living Forward
So what happens when you stop fixating on worst-case scenarios? You start living forward instead of backwards.
Here’s what I mean: fear is basically time travel in reverse. It drags you backward, replaying possible futures you’ll never meet. Letting go is a choice to face the next minute, the next hour, and the following conversation with clear eyes.
Does it mean nothing bad ever happens? Nope. But it means when it does, you’ve got energy left to handle it. It also means you notice the good stuff more. The small victories, the jokes, the unexpected kindness. Fear closes your eyes to those.
What You Can Do Right Now
I’m not about to hand you a “Top 10 Tips” checklist because, let’s be honest, you’ll forget half of them before you finish scrolling. But here are three small things that worked for me, take what sticks:
- Mock your fear. Picture it in clown shoes. Exaggerate it until it’s ridiculous.
- Write down gratitudes. Doesn’t have to be deep. “I have coffee. I have WiFi. I’m not in a cave.” Good enough.
- Act anyway. Fear waits for certainty. Certainty never shows. Do the thing, even shaking.
Readers who’ve picked up Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery often say they keep it nearby to flip through on bad days. One said it “reads like coffee with a brutally honest friend who makes you laugh even as they dismantle your assumptions.” That’s the vibe I want you to hear, too. Not polished wisdom from on high. Just someone else saying: I’ve been there, and here’s how I made it through.
Why It Matters Now
The world’s a mess. Politics is trench warfare. Social media feels like a battleground. Fear sells clicks, outrage fuels algorithms. Which means if you’re not careful, worst-case scenarios aren’t just in your head, they’re force-fed daily.
Choosing to stop feeding fear isn’t naive. It’s resistance. It’s saying no to being ruled by anxiety, even when the world profits off it. That’s why a book like Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery matters now: it reminds us to laugh, to live in the present, to see ourselves as human first.
Your Turn
So here’s the question: what’s the worst-case scenario if you actually stop obsessing over worst-case scenarios?
You may miss a disaster. Perhaps you may crash anyway, but recover faster. Or maybe you start noticing life as it is, not just life as it could collapse.
That’s worth trying.
And if you want a companion for that journey, a book full of wit, fragments, and real talk about stumbling forward, grab Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery. Dog-ear it. Argue with it. Laugh at it.
But whatever you do, stop rehearsing your disasters. Start living your days.