The way I learned to cope with my own miraculously horrific existence has been to adopt a kind of ersatz Zen (“ersatz” because I’ve never been formally schooled in any Buddhist tradition; I’ve just kinda read a few books and picked up notions and ideas secondhand) approach that consists mainly of me telling myself that the story of myself that I tell myself is just that, and what I consider my own identity is mostly made-up by me, and I’m just a silly little human after all, and success and failure are mostly illusions, and my existence doesn’t really matter in a cosmic sense so I should just accept as much of the world as it is as I can. And honestly, this has worked for me. I’m OK with me now.

Then I interact with other people who don’t necessarily take this approach, but I try to impart some of this approach to them in an effort to help with whatever crisis they’re experiencing, except I’m not the best communicator, and sometimes it just comes out sounding more like, “You’re not important. Your problems aren’t important,” which yes, I agree, that sounds awfully mean.