From Catastrophe to Curiosity

Zhuangzi’s Prescription for the Perpetually Panicked

The results are in, the votes are counted, and half the nation is clutching its pearls while the other half is cracking champagne. It doesn’t matter which election we’re talking about—this is the standard playbook. 

It’s almost a tradition now, like Thanksgiving dinner, but with fewer mashed potatoes and more doomsday scenarios. Every election, one side declares that civilization as we know it is ending, while the other side claims it’s finally beginning. Meanwhile, the Tao, unmoved by our human melodrama, just keeps on flowing.

It’s human nature to catastrophize. You lose your job, and suddenly you’re envisioning a life of destitution, eating cold beans under a bridge. Someone ghosts you on a dating app, and you’re convinced you’ll die alone. 

The stock market takes a dip, and next thing you know, you’re hoarding canned goods in your basement because, clearly, society is about to collapse. We’re masters at taking a molehill and turning it into Everest.

But let me tell you something: I’ve quit this game. I no longer subscribe to the catastrophic newsletter of human nature. Instead, I’ve become a curiosity junkie, chasing down the mysteries of life like a kid chasing an ice cream truck. It’s far less stressful, infinitely more interesting, and Zhuangzi would absolutely approve.

The Catastrophe Machine

Catastrophizing is a uniquely human affliction. Evolutionarily, it probably made sense. If you were an ancient hunter-gatherer and you heard a rustle in the bushes, assuming the worst (saber-toothed tiger) might save your life. 

But in the modern world, the rustle in the bushes is usually just the wind—or, at worst, your nosy neighbor. Yet here we are, still assuming tigers lurk behind every corner, whether the corner is an election result, a text message left on read, or a new strain of the flu.

Zhuangzi, the ancient Taoist philosopher, would shake his head at us. In his whimsical parables, he pokes fun at human beings for taking life so seriously. To Zhuangzi, life is an ever-changing, unpredictable dance. Trying to control it or impose our own narratives on it is like trying to wrestle the wind. 

Spoiler alert: the wind always wins.

Zhuangzi once dreamed he was a butterfly, fluttering about without a care in the world. When he awoke, he couldn’t tell if he was Zhuangzi dreaming he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi. 

The point? Life is ambiguous, and our rigid interpretations are laughably inadequate. So why waste time catastrophizing when you could be exploring life’s mysteries instead?

Curiosity as a Counterweight

Here’s the thing about curiosity: it’s a natural antidote to anxiety. When you’re curious, you’re open. You’re asking questions instead of jumping to conclusions. You’re looking at life with wonder, not fear. Instead of catastrophizing about what might go wrong, you’re fascinated by what might unfold.

This mindset shift has been a game-changer for me. Take the election hysteria. While everyone else is breathlessly predicting the end of democracy or the dawn of utopia, I’m over here wondering: What does this moment say about us as a species? 

What are the hidden lessons, the ironies, the opportunities for growth? I don’t need answers right away. The questions themselves are enough to keep me engaged—and sane.

Zhuangzi’s Election Commentary

If Zhuangzi were alive today, I suspect he’d have some fun with our election drama. He’d probably tell a parable about a frog in a well, convinced that its little patch of sky is the whole universe. 

The frog argues passionately about the shape of the sky, oblivious to the vastness beyond its well. Sound familiar? That’s us, clinging to our limited perspectives, certain that our version of reality is the only one that matters.

Zhuangzi might also remind us that the Tao doesn’t care who wins or loses an election. The Tao is about balance, flow, and transformation. What looks like chaos to us might be the natural unfolding of a larger harmony. If we could step back, zoom out, and embrace the mystery, we might find ourselves less anxious and more at peace.

Shutting Down the Catastrophe Factory

Catastrophizing doesn’t make life safer—it just makes it smaller. Curiosity, on the other hand, expands your world. It turns every moment, even the stressful ones, into an opportunity for discovery. 

So the next time you catch yourself spinning out over the latest disaster du jour, pause. Ask yourself: What would Zhuangzi do? He’d probably laugh, lean back, and let the wind carry him where it will.

And maybe, just maybe, we should all try doing the same.

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Much Love,

Diamond Michael Scott — aka The Chocolate Taoist