On a three-mile run the other night, I finished the final chapters of an audiobook. It was a slightly older book by a slightly older author. In it, he recounted lessons about work-life balance learned throughout his career.
As I listened, a certain word kept poking me in the ears: stress. The writer described how stressed he’d been in his forties, at peak busyness in his work. Stress hindered him from being the father he wanted to be—that is, until he beat stress by implementing the principles found in the book’s pages.
It stood out as I wondered, “When was the last time I heard the word stress?”
In my memory, stress was the buzzword of a time gone by. I remember seeing it on magazine covers, stacked in the lobby of the doctor’s office. Adults on the TV discussed its levels on the rise and how to deal with it. Oddly enough, I felt taken back to my early 2000s childhood by this most unlikely spark.
He might as well have been describing how “epic” his weekend was or using any form of the word “swag.” I get the message, man, but you’re embarrassing yourself.
If the book were a generation more modern, I considered, it would center around anxiety rather than stress. It would be the same general wisdom repackaged with fresh vocabulary, as new generations are inclined to produce.
After getting home, a Google Trends search confirmed my suspicion. Searches for “stress” leveled off in the past decade, at the same point that searches for “anxiety” were sharply rising.
What do we make of this exchange in vocabulary?
Maybe it’s generational—a new name for the same thing.
Maybe it’s scientific—we do, after all, use more clinical-sounding language today.
Of course, stress and anxiety are technically distinct. However, cultural dialogue pays little mind to technical definitions.
Whatever terms you use for it, we seem to agree that there’s an increasing weight to going about the day. You may lead a fairly normal life and not even want to admit it, but just “keeping up” feels more difficult than it should. Doesn’t it?
Right about now, you’re probably anticipating my argument from here: Phones. Social Media. I’ve heard this before. I promise that’s not where I’m headed.
In August 2021, I parked at the Giant Eagle just down the street. The sun was halfway set, but warm air still greeted me as I got out of the car and walked toward the entrance of the grocery store. The sole purpose for my visit was getting dog food, and I’d be in and out in five.
The unusually quiet parking lot piqued my suspicion. It can’t be closed, can it?
A year and a half past the start of the pandemic, stores and restaurants seemed more or less back to business. Still, memories of closed stores and adjusted hours were fresh enough in my memory.
As the automatic doors refused to part, a sign on the door informed me that my neighborhood store now closed at 7:30.
I pulled out my phone, searching for surrounding stores. Even the previous 24-hour locations were locked up for the night. I had assumed that reopening meant I could make a spontaneous trip when I pleased. I got back in the car and headed home.
(Don’t worry. Sully had food for the morning, but I had to plan to get to the store the next day.)
I’ve had a working theory for a while on why we’re so overwhelmed. When I hear us casually scapegoat the internet for all our woes, I think “No, don’t do that!”
It’s really not that simple. Because before the smartphone was invented, there was the Walmart Superstore. The automated teller machine. The 24-hour printshop.
In my theory, the grocery store and the smartphone are equally culpable. Why? It all has to do with access and order.
I wasn’t shocked or surprised that night when the grocery store was closed. But if I can say, I was a little disturbed. It was weirdly frustrating in a way that’s embarrassing to admit.
How many late nights had I swung by that store for groceries, or for medicine, or to grab snacks before heading to see friends? My cause for frustration had nothing to do with the item I couldn’t to purchase. It had to do with a certain spontaneity which was now unavailable.
We’ve all grown accustomed to being able to do just-about-anything just-about-anytime. I’m all in on it. I think and plan so much during the day, what’s the harm being loose with the grocery routine?
We’re so accustomed to instant access, it’s almost offensive when we don’t get it. Remember the half-joking outrage at McDonalds for not serving breakfast all day? If I want a McGriddle at 3pm, I should be able to follow that hunger straight to the drive-through.
Unbridled access certainly applies to your phone, but it applies just about everywhere else, too. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but there is a shadow side. Access to more often means a breakdown in any sense of order.
In times past, life was pretty well ordered for you. Stores, restaurants, and businesses followed a standard schedule. When you had more to do than time to do it, it forced a decision. The doctor’s office and the barbershop both close at 5—Which one do I need more? It demanded priority.
Nights and weekends were times to rest—not just because you chose to, but partially because there were no other options. There was simultaneously less time to do things and more urgency to accomplish them. Our lives shared an architecture.
This isn’t just suburban nostalgia; it’s most of human history. Long before streetlights and strip malls, we were regulated by seasons and the sun’s position in the sky. There were days to plant and days to harvest. You didn’t have much say in the matter.
I don’t think our fretfulness is a generational fault, per se. We have access in excess, and we attack it with a scattershot approach. Absent of imposed limitations, we’re left with life unordered.
The harm of uninterrupted access is that it ricochets back on you:
Why wouldn’t your bills be paid? The bank is always online.
Why wouldn’t you be in shape? The gym is always open.
There’s an expectation to produce constantly. To always achieve. To print 24/7.
In the absence of limits, there’s an absence of excuses. But if you’ve ever felt the relief of saying, “I’m sorry, I can’t make it. I have other plans.” then you know excuses aren’t always so bad.
Look, I already said it. I like having everything available constantly. As soon as I schedule this post, I’ll probably go pick up a late dinner. But access must be tempered by intentional order. Decisiveness. Prioritization. Self-imposed limits.
You should pay your bills, and you should get in shape, but you’ll have to choose it over something else. What’s worth choosing to you?
Stores aren’t going to shorten their hours any time soon (actually, they are). Errands won’t organize themselves. If your life is to have any sense of priority, you’ll have to give yourself your own excuses.
We live in an anxious place. My theory? No one should be a 24-hour printshop.