I’ve always had a wild imagination. As a child, I dreamt of meeting unicorns, chatting with dragons, and sharing a casual cup of tea with a yeti. But as an adult, my most elusive quest has changed—I am now on a mission to meet a rare and legendary creature: the Mentally Healthy Human. You know, those mystical beings who glide through life untouched by anxiety, fear, overthinking, or the cursed existence of Monday mornings.
It’s as if the universe handed out a secret handbook on how to live without stress, and somehow, my copy got lost in the mail. What’s it like to wake up and not immediately feel like you’re gearing up for battle with a T-Rex? How does one simply eat breakfast without contemplating the existential dread that is the ever-rising price of avocados?
And social gatherings—don’t even get me started. Are these people just immune to the fear of saying something so awkward that it will replay in their heads for the next decade? Do they not cringe at 3 AM over something mildly embarrassing they did in 2012? Or experience the sheer terror of being asked to introduce themselves in a room full of strangers? Because, personally, I need a week of mental preparation for a simple hello and a follow-up question that doesn’t make me sound like a malfunctioning robot.
From what I’ve gathered, these mentally healthy folk don’t spend their time trapped in a never-ending carousel of past embarrassments and future disasters. Their minds aren’t amusement parks where Trauma is the main attraction, and Anxiety is the overly enthusiastic tour guide. They don’t break into a cold sweat at the mere thought of a social commitment. They don’t spend half the day crafting a list of every possible worst-case scenario like it’s an Olympic event.
Is it even possible to go a full day without having a heart-to-heart with your own insecurities? Without making a detailed analysis of how you were probably the most awkward person in the grocery store checkout line last week? Can someone please forward me the memo on this? I swear my carrier pigeon must have taken a detour and never returned.
To be honest, I’d love just one day off from my brain’s never-ending drama festival. A day where my thoughts aren’t doing parkour between fear, anxiety, and the occasional deep philosophical question about whether I turned the stove off. A day where my mind isn’t juggling overthinking breakfast, planning for imaginary catastrophes, and attempting to solve climate change—all before noon.
So here I am, marveling at the idea of these mythical, mentally healthy beings. I imagine their minds are serene, like a perfectly curated spa playlist—no static, no interruptions, just calm. Must be nice, huh?
Meanwhile, I’ll be here, cross-legged on my living room floor, trying to meditate my way out of existential dread with a combination of breathing exercises and cat videos. Because hey, if I can’t be part of the ‘Mentally Healthy’ club just yet, I might as well laugh my way through the application process.
And who knows? Maybe that’s the secret—embracing the chaos, finding humor in the madness, and realizing that none of us really have it all figured out. Maybe the goal isn’t perfection but simply learning how to exist with a little more kindness toward ourselves. And if that’s the case, then I think I’m doing just fine.
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