The Miasma Of Anxiety And The Courage Of Quiet Moments

In a previous essay, Life is a Farmer’s Market, I tried to relay the calm that exudes over a Sunday stroll through the rows and rows of produce of the street fair–despite, however chaotic that Sao Paulo market actually is. In another essay, Love is a Bowl of Pumpkin Curry With My Wife, I struck a similar tone by relaying the therapeutic nature of cooking and eating slow, with someone you love. I don’t always know what prompts me to write this way–a revealing kind of way that somehow exposes my secrets, in a sense.

Perhaps, it is because these things are close to me, close to my heart, and to write about them, to share them, is to inspect them, live them again–but it is also to honor them. I think it is probably some kind of art form, and one that I hope to never master, to always be inspecting, giving, honoring the things that give you pleasure, or a sense of purpose, or shine some calm light into your heart.

These things need not be productive nor profitable (perhaps they are at their best when not), and they rarely cost one a damn thing. Of course, we have been told that the best things in life are free, but rarely do I find my fellow humans acting on such a belief, myself included. And just like that, friends, an essay aiming to capture the miasma of anxiety must make some inclusion of money, profit, etc.

The miasma I am referring to is universal. I am not speaking as an American, or an American expat specifically, although I am sure that voice will come through, no matter how I choose my words. The miasma is attacking the nature of man (or the worst version of our nature) from all directions. I cannot begin to define the world as it exists today, because by tomorrow, that world will have evolved into something else.

A new problem, a new solution, a new war, a new tech will undoubtedly emerge, rendering whatever portrait one might describe only half-accurate at best. The poet and the artist, the painter and essayist, as well as the scientist and thinker, should damn well keep trying, and I am certain that we will, even in moments of great universal joy, or universal fear and anxiety–whatever of those two is best for the artist.

The miasma is a creeping one, or so it seems. Perhaps, slow and steady, and then all at once. The oncoming collision that many in the workforce will have with A.I. promises to disrupt plenty of lives. This is only a direct consequence of A.I. technology replacing workers in certain fields, but with the new tech replacing the computing power of a generation (or two), we will certainly have given up much of our crucial critical thinking skills, for the ease and sake of a soulless shortcut. And believing that man is capable of resisting a shortcut would be the essence of optimism, or a much less kind word. There is much more to say on the problem of ubiquitous technology and its ceaseless insertion into our everyday lives, but I will digress.

Too, the stage of world politics seems to be going through seismic shifts–notably, where once the terms authoritarian regime only produced eyerolls and smirks, at least in the west, it seems real efforts are being made befitting of that term. The many wars that are being waged promise to match many of the horrors of those classic wars in high definition, in the here and now, front and center on the world stage.

But one could spend the better part of their lives listing out all the ways in which the world tomorrow will not resemble the world of yesterday. Much better to focus, or to dedicate purposeful time to, the things we may be able to grasp, and the things that bring us calm. The individual cannot survive as an individual if that person is constantly pondering and echoing all the contents in the world.

Perhaps, there is a time for belligerency. To push forward with every bit of might as a collective force may, to rise against a force that binds man together. But the very forces we are expanding are also tearing us apart. To withdraw from the belligerency of progress, of innovation, of technology, and the internet must be part of an equation if humankind is going to keep their hearts, their art, their dignity, their sanity.

To step away towards the simple things, for maybe now more than ever, is not simply an act of pleasure, or leisure, but it has become an act of courage and defiance. The soldier can still fight when the battle is needed and just, the builder can still build so long as it is not a mindless and dumb act, and the technician can still meddle with whatever it is they are working on, so long as it is productive and ethical. But the human should take their time, when they can, to relax and do very little things at a snail’s pace.

Some small suggestions that may bring calm:

Raising a small garden, or if you live in an apartment, gathering potted plants and tending to them.

Slow cooking stews, curries, roasts, etc. The house will fill with a fine aroma and this helps spread warmth and love.

The trumpeter Chet Baker is a fine music maker, and much of his music is kind to the soul, by now nostalgic–particularly if it happens to be raining.

And lastly, by now you know, reading a physical book allows you to forget about your worries for a little while, and focus on the beauty of the words before you, unencumbered by the world’s many current plights.

Gratitude is not bad either.

JSV
2025

Wrong Speak is a free-expression platform that allows varying viewpoints. All views expressed in this article are the author's own.