Are you a eustress girlie?

For the past year or so, my family has been waging a lively debate over The Bear. Here’s how it goes:

They’re reticent because they think The Bear is stressful. This is true. For thirty ceaseless minutes, flashing clocks are spliced together with frantic knives and people shouting “Behind!” and “Fuck you, cousin!” Watching The Bear isn’t fun the way eating a bowl of ice cream is fun, but it’s also not un-fun the way eating steamed vegetables is un-fun. It’s the fun equivalent of a strenuous hike: engaging and entertaining but not comfortable.

I was thinking about the difference between good stress and bad stress on my run this morning because I was tired and my leg hurt. Why was I making myself do this uncomfortable thing? Why do any of us ever make ourselves do uncomfortable things? Running feels sort of good in the moment but great once you’re done. The stress is good because it’s temporary and within your control. Going for a jog is not the same as running from, like, a relentless zombie horde. It’s hard, and then it’s over, and you did it to yourself.

I’m fond of the idea of “stress” as a neutral word. Stress comes from the Latin strictus, meaning “drawn tight.” Distress is bad stress—the root “dis-” means “apart,” so “distress” gives a sense of being placed under tension to the point of being torn apart. “Eustress,” then, is a back-formation of “distress.” The root “eu-” means “good,” so “eustress” means “good stress.”

It strikes me that much of what technology purports to give us is less stress, but it alleviates the bad and good indiscriminately. TikTok = never be bored again! (But maybe being bored lets you dream up some cool ideas?) Facebook/Instagram = learn what your friends are doing without ever needing to speak to them directly! (But maybe you would be happier if you got dinner with them?) Hinge = never run out of potential dates! (But maybe fewer, deeper connections would be more fulfilling?) These apps want to alleviate friction, and while friction isn’t inherently good, I also feel it’s pretty far down the list of things that I want to determine my choices.

There’s a devastating passage in the memoir When Breath Becomes Air where the author, Paul, and his wife, Lucy, discuss whether they want to try for a baby despite Paul’s cancer diagnosis:

Of all the things I’ve ever read, this might be the passage I think about most often. I have a note in my phone with this sentiment paraphrased—”life isn’t about avoiding discomfort”—which I recognize is incredibly earnest but which I return to all the time anyway.

While we’d all prefer to avoid suffering, I also don’t think most of us want comfort to be the organizing principle of our lives. Surely there are better, more interesting organizing principles—love or joy or curiosity or exploration. I haven’t had to make choices like Paul’s and Lucy’s, but I think the advice holds true for more mundane decisions, too. Do you move to a new place even though you don’t know how you’ll fit in? Do you go for a run even though your body will hurt? Do you fall in love even if you might get your heart broken?

I remember my feeling of uprootedness when I first graduated college. Nothing seemed certain, so I wanted to reach out and grab as much certainty as possible. I wanted my friendships and relationships and career to be permanent, set in stone, with no room to shift. But thank god they weren’t! Because so many of those things evolved into better things. It’s stressful when things change, but it’s also fulfilling and exciting. It’s type 2 fun. Also: It makes for much better stories. When we tell stories—whether we’re writing novels or talking to our friends about our lives—it’s satisfying to focus on friction. Stasis; conflict; catharsis; change. Stress begets change, and change is interesting.

Which, I think, is the reason I actually like The Bear.

Currently reading: How to Read Now: Essays by Elaine Castillo. “When artists bemoan the rise of political correctness in our cultural discourse, what they’re really bemoaning is the rise of this unexpected reader. They’re bemoaning the arrival of someone who does not read them the way they expect—often demand—to be read; often someone who has been framed in their work and in their lives as an object, not as a subject.”

Non-urgent thought of the week: Is “girlie” gender-neutral? As in, “I’m an oat milk girlie.” Please weigh in at your earliest convenience.

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