You're not afraid of what's happening. You're afraid of the seventeen things that might.
The thing in front of you is usually fine. It's the branching tree of everything-after that lights you up at 3am. A small text, an unanswered call, a vague tone — your mind takes the spark and builds the whole forest fire, complete with exits and casualties. Future fear is your home address: not tomorrow, but next month, next year, the worst version of a thing that hasn't even started. You call it being prepared, and sometimes it is. But there's a point where rehearsing the disaster becomes living it early, paying the full emotional price for outcomes that almost never arrive. You've survived a hundred catastrophes that never happened.
Get your read — free on iPhoneyou don't fear the present — you've already lived through next year's disaster, in detail, for free. you've survived a hundred catastrophes that never even happened.