The Advice From This Popular Celebrity That Changed My Life

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OMG, a thunderstorm is on track to hit New York City in two days. What if my flight to Denver is delayed? It will mess up my entire work trip. And if it's not delayed, the takeoff will be turbulent to a violent degree. I will jump out of my skin. Maybe I should call the airline and change my itinerary? And why hasn't my mom called me all week? Ugh, my mom told me she woke up with a headache. What if she has a rare, inoperable tumor? She already has high cholesterol. Maybe her condition is genetic, and I have it too. This can't be good!!!!!

So yeah, it’s fair to say I’m a world-class worrywart. The preceding paragraph describes a typical Wednesday night inside my overworked brain. By Friday, I move on to stressing about my IRA balance. I know, I know. But I only fret because I. Care. So. Much.

If something goes awry, I’m fully prepared to deal because I’ve already exerted quality time and energy on the worry. I consider that a win. That’s how I used to feel, anyway.

Then, one morning, somebody lectured me about the fallacy of worrying and explained why I needed to stop ASAP.

That person happens to be one of the most successful comedians of all time — Jerry Seinfeld.

For business purposes, I interviewed Jerry Seinfeld in March 2024 so he could promote his admittedly so-so new movie, Unfrosted. Because this was for a cover story, I could extend my line of questioning and ensure the movie wasn’t the only topic on the menu.

It was a video chat, even though we were both on our laptops only a few blocks away from each other in our apartments. Our proximity served as good-natured chit-chat for the first few minutes. Still, Jerry wouldn’t warm to my questions.

Or, put it this way: He refused to humor me.

He never struggles with emotional childhood wounds. Fatherhood is fun. No, he will not offer a prediction about his beloved New York Mets this season. “I think the worst thing that human beings do is predict,” he said. “They're not good at it.”

With my frustration mounting, I pressed him about turning 70. Surely, someone who specializes in observation would provide a tidy soundbite on mortality. Heck, I’m not even 50 yet, and I wring my hands about death constantly.

“I don’t self-reflect,” he explained, “because you’re an idiot if you don’t think about anything but today.” When I reminded him that a fellow stand-up had just died, he doubled down: “You and I are both on our way out, Mara. So why worry about anything?”

#@$#L$@#%!! I was suddenly incredulous that Jerry was so disrespectful of my go-to mental exercise. And yet, I was intrigued by his ultra-blasé attitude about the past, present and future. I couldn’t believe such a thing was possible.

“I am full of neuroses,” I blurted out. “Why don’t you share this trait with me?” This was more of an accusation than a question.

“It’s just genetic luck,” he explained. “I wasn’t born with that piece of the puzzle.”

“Do any of your three kids have it?” (What I was really thinking: You’re worth gazillions. Of course you don’t have neuroses!)

“Yeah, they do. But I tell them, ‘You're stupid if you worry. It's ignorant.’”

“You need to tell me why!” I was now talking to the man who once crowed about being The Master of His Domain as if he were a master life coach.

Jerry leaned forward and replied without pausing: “What you think is going to happen is not what's going to happen. It's going to be something else. Worrying about, ‘I just want to make sure I have this so in case this happens, I'm ready and I can do that,’ and having this whole plan in your head of how it's going to go is nonsense.”

“But you’re about to be an empty nester! Aren’t you worried about that?”

“Mara, we can go over it again,” he intoned. “If it feels depressing or lonely or sad, that's just a warm-up for something wonderful that's going to follow.”

After we signed off, I stared blankly out my window, trying to process what just happened. A few years of therapy got me nowhere. I fired a psychiatrist after three sessions because we didn’t jibe.

Jerry Seinfeld may have just set me free.

The truth is, I had done such a stellar job rationalizing my worrying that I convinced myself I was doing the Lord’s work. Not only was I used to the neurotic part of my personality, I was comfortable with it. And while deep down I knew that everything was (likely) going to be fine, it truly never occurred to me that the act itself was “stupid” and “ignorant.” The words hit me hard; the succinct delivery floored me.

Every time I jolted awake at 4 a.m. with overt concerns about logistics or deadlines, my train of thought immediately shifted to Jerry’s Zen approach to life. All I had to do was remind myself that the worst thing humans can do is predict. When I did exhaust myself working through every terrible scenario, I later regretted it. It turns out I’m a terrible predictor. Go figure.

His advice proved so successful that I spread the gospel like I knew the winning lotto numbers. A girlfriend confided that she was worried her child would be bullied at a new school; I relayed my newfound Seinfeldian wisdom. Another friend expressed her anxiety about the upcoming presidential election on Facebook; I messaged her about my breakthrough interview. Also, I think my mom is annoyed with me because I keep starting sentences with “To quote Jerry Seinfeld...” At least I’m not annoying her with my unfounded worries.

I won’t proclaim that I’m now 100% neurotic-free. Not even 80%. But I do try to give myself permission to back off from my worries to be more present. I only plan what I can control. I’ve learned to spend uninterrupted time daydreaming about possibilities instead of dreading consequences. My life — and sanity — are better for it. But I will predict how the Mets will fare in ’25. I can’t help it.

 
Are any of you a worrier? How do you try NOT to worry? Let us know in the comments below.