How Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy taught me to relax and stop giving so many fucks.

Hi. This is the voice of a late night infomercial speaking. Do you find yourself wide awake at night giving too many shits?

How about too many fucks?

To be clear, we aren't talking about proactive shits and fucks.

We're talking about fear and anxiety-driven shits and fucks that stem from ancient "holy balls I'm being chased by mysterious shadow predators" DNA which simultaneously hold you back from checking the mailbox out of fear that you'll have to have a conversation with your neighbors.

If you're worried about something that shouldn't be so trivial, or even if you're worried about worrying about things that shouldn't be so trivial, then boy do I have the book for you:

"Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams has always been a staple food in my literary diet.

It's my anti-anxiety literature of choice.

But to be clear, I would not simply classify it as a comfort food.

It's an organic superfood full of comfort, wisdom, dark humor, light humor, Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster humor, and every meta-ounce of philosophical wisdom one might need to prevent themselves from panicking during situations they have little control over.

Sometimes, it actually pays off to imagine the Earth being completely destroyed in order to facilitate an intergalactic highway construction project for a hyperspace express route.

What would you do if you were the sole survivor?

Panic? There's no time to panic.

Sometimes you've got to lean into the "well, this shit sucks but I'll think of something!" philosophy and plow forward.

Last call, final words of whimsy: Don't panic, embrace the great spirit of adventure, and avoid Vogon poetry at all costs.