I find people endlessly fascinating. When they don’t get what they want, they suffer. When they get what they don’t want, they suffer. And when they finally, miraculously, get exactly what they want? Well, they suffer even more. Because deep down—beneath the hollow triumphs, the overpriced champagne toasts, the exhausting parties with people they secretly despise, the desperate scramble for fleeting fame, the Lamborghinis leased for Instagram, the mile-high-club mischiefs that require a seatbelt sign of shame, and the forced smiles while poolside with the president—everyone knows the truth. Nothing lasts forever. Life’s cup, which they so bravely try to fill, is, in reality, bottomless. And the more they pour in, the emptier it seems.
Cheers to that.
This is, as far as I can tell, one of life’s most frustrating paradoxes.
You’d think evolution might have come up with a workaround for this by now.
A toggle switch for contentment, maybe, or at least a built-in warranty for happiness.
But no. Instead, we’re all stuck navigating a never-ending cycle of desires, disappointments, and existential dread. Amen.
Another of life’s irritating riddles—and this one, literally, has kept me awake far too many nights—is why it seems categorically impossible to find a single silent spot in the world anymore.
Anywhere.
Urban, suburban, jungle, desert, on top of a lonely mountain, underground, on the bottom of the ocean—it doesn’t matter.
On land, on sea, or even midair in what’s supposed to be the serene isolation of a long-haul flight.
I’ve tested this theory in Canada’s Yukon, Kenya’s Maasai Mara, and the sprawling nothingness of Wyoming.
I even dared to venture—believe it or not—into Nebraska, the closest thing Earth has to a vacuum.
An opening excerpt from What Could Possibly Go Wrong? Chronicles of Chaos and Courage remains available here. The full book can be ordered here.
Ground Zero of Nebraska’s Musical Apocalypse.
A glorified cheese slicer against the incoming sonic invasion.
Midway through bean night and beer therapy, I realized the Bowie blade wouldn’t stop the boom-box caravan circling my tent like a tribal curse with subwoofers.
Ta-Ha-Zouka, they called it.
I call it Ground Zero of Nebraska’s Musical Apocalypse.
What could possibly go wrong?
Weight limit: exceeded. Logic: abandoned. Marriage: still miraculously intact.
Here we see Nicole calculating — silently, deadly — whether she should fix the strap or strangle me with it.
The motorcycle was groaning, the gear net was convulsing, and somewhere beneath it all, our dignity lay buried.
What could possibly go wrong?
This chaos was just one chapter. Want the rest?
🔥 Grab the pre-edition of “What Could Possibly Go Wrong?” and own the literary equivalent of a flaming survival log.