Mark: Here’s a wild thought: we are the safest, healthiest, and wealthiest generation in human history. We have access to medicine, food, and information that would have seemed like magic to our ancestors. Yet, we're also the most anxious. Michelle: That is a strange contradiction, isn't it? We have less to fear in terms of basic survival, but our minds seem to be working overtime to find new things to worry about. It feels like we've traded saber-toothed tigers for Slack notifications, and the stress response is exactly the same. Mark: Exactly. What if the very thing that kept our ancestors alive—that constant, nagging sense of worry—is now the thing that's slowly, or not so slowly, wearing us down? That's the paradox we're untangling today. Michelle: I’m in. Where are we getting our map for this journey into the worried mind? Mark: It's the central question in Paul McGee's book, How Not to Worry: The Remarkable Truth of How a Small Change Can Help You Stress Less and Enjoy Life More. And McGee is an interesting character to tackle this. He’s a behavioral psychologist, but he calls himself 'The SUMO Guy'—which stands for Shut Up, Move On. Michelle: Whoa, that's blunt. I like it. Mark: It is! He has this very direct, no-nonsense Mancunian style, which he says comes from his early career helping laid-off coal miners in the UK. He saw firsthand that mindset and attitude were just as important as skills. So his whole approach is about practical, get-it-done tools, not just abstract theory. Michelle: Okay, a 'Shut Up, Move On' guy. I'm officially intrigued. So let's start with that paradox he raises. Why on earth are we so good at worrying when life is, objectively, so much better?

Mark: Well, McGee’s answer is that we come from a long, unbroken line of champion worriers. He asks us to imagine the world 50,000 years ago on the African Savannah. There are two cavemen in our tribe: let's call them Bob and Frank. Michelle: I'm picturing them now. Bob and Frank. Mark: Bob is the optimist. He’s laid-back, cheerful, and thinks everything will work out for the best. He hears a rustle in the tall grass and thinks, "Oh, probably just the wind." He sees a storm cloud and figures, "Eh, it'll pass." He's very chill. Michelle: I want to be friends with Bob. He sounds like a great guy to have at a barbecue. Mark: You would, but you couldn't. Because Bob is dead. He got eaten by a sabre-toothed tiger that was, in fact, rustling in the grass. Now, Frank, on the other hand, is a mess. He’s constantly fretting. Every snap of a twig is a predator. Every dark cloud is a life-threatening storm. He’s anxious, he’s cautious, he over-prepares for everything. He’s not fun at parties. Michelle: But Frank is alive. Mark: Frank is alive! And because Frank survived, he got to pass on his genes. We are the descendants of Frank. Our brains are literally hardwired with his operating system: an internal alarm system designed to scream "DANGER!" at the slightest provocation. It was an incredible evolutionary advantage. As McGee puts it, Frank's motto would be, "I'd rather be fearful and alive than complacent and dead." Michelle: That makes so much sense. So I have Frank to thank for my Sunday scaries and my habit of re-reading an email twenty times before I hit send. But that was 50,000 years ago. The threat isn't a tiger anymore; it's an ambiguous text from my boss. Why does my brain react with the same level of panic? Mark: That's the crux of the problem. We have this ancient, primitive brain—the part responsible for the fight-or-flight response—that still holds the reins. It's fast, it's emotional, and its prime directive is survival, not accuracy. When it perceives a threat, real or imagined, it floods your system with stress hormones before your slow, logical, rational brain even has a chance to put its shoes on. Michelle: It hijacks the system. Mark: Completely. McGee tells this hilarious personal story that perfectly illustrates this. One summer evening, his wife Helen goes outside and lets out a blood-curdling scream. She runs back in, white as a sheet, yelling, "They're everywhere! Hundreds of them! They're invading the patio!" Michelle: What were they? Mark: Slugs. She was convinced their house was under attack by an army of giant slugs. And here's the key part: McGee, a rational psychologist, looks at her panic, and his own primitive brain instantly buys into it. He doesn't question it. He panics too. They grab a giant tube of table salt and start frantically flinging it all over the patio, like soldiers repelling an invasion. They're pumped with adrenaline, hearts pounding. They feel like heroes. Michelle: Please tell me they defeated the slug army. Mark: The next morning, they go outside to survey their victory. And they find... leaves. Hundreds of small, slug-shaped leaves that had fallen from a nearby bush. There were never any slugs. Their primitive brains invented a threat, and their rational minds just went along for the ride. Michelle: Oh, that is painfully relatable. I've had my own 'slug army' moments, usually involving a weird noise in the house at 3 a.m. that turns out to be the ice maker. Mark: We all have. And that's the modern worry paradox. Our alarm system is still set to "sabre-toothed tiger" level, but it's being triggered by things that are, in reality, just harmless leaves. And this constant misfiring leads to what McGee calls 'loopy logic'.

Michelle: 'Loopy logic.' I love that term. It sounds much more fun than 'cognitive distortions.' What does he mean by that? Mark: It's the set of irrational, almost superstitious, thought patterns our minds default to when we're anxious. It’s the faulty reasoning we use to justify our worry. And once you see the patterns, you can't unsee them. Michelle: Give me an example. What's the first symptom of loopy logic? Mark: One of the most common is what he calls "Worry as Witchcraft." This is the secret, irrational belief that if you worry about something enough, you can prevent it from happening. It’s a form of magical thinking. Michelle: Oh, I do that! I worry about a flight, checking the weather and the plane model, and when it lands safely, a tiny, irrational part of me thinks my worrying somehow helped keep it in the air. Mark: Precisely! McGee tells a great little anecdote to illustrate this. A man is on a train, tearing up little bits of paper and throwing them out the window. Another passenger asks him what he's doing. The man replies, "I'm keeping the elephants off the tracks." The passenger says, "But there are no elephants on the railway line." And the man triumphantly replies, "I know. It must be working." Michelle: Wow. That's brilliant. It's absurd, but it perfectly captures that feeling. You create a link between your worrying and the outcome, even when there's no logical connection. Mark: It gives us a false sense of control in a world that often feels uncontrollable. Another piece of loopy logic is simply "Feeding Your Fears." Our brains are wired to pay attention to threats, and the media knows this. News isn't the norm; that's why it's news. But if you consume a constant diet of bad news—plane crashes, economic collapse, rare diseases—your brain starts to believe these rare events are common, which just gives you more things to worry about. Michelle: It distorts your perception of risk. You start worrying about a shark attack in a country lake because you saw one documentary. Mark: Exactly. And McGee shares a story about his own daughter, Ruth, who as a child developed a genuine fear of sharks... in the local swimming pool. It was completely irrational, but to her, the fear was 100% real. That's loopy logic in action. The emotional brain doesn't care about statistics; it cares about the scary picture it has created. Michelle: Okay, but some people might hear this and say it's just common sense. 'Don't think irrationally.' 'Don't believe everything you think.' The book has received some mixed reviews, with some readers saying the advice, while sound, isn't exactly groundbreaking. Is there more to it than just pointing out that our thinking is sometimes loopy? Mark: That's a fair critique, and McGee even acknowledges it. He quotes Steve Jobs, saying, "Simple can be harder than complex." The value here isn't in some revolutionary, never-before-heard secret. The value is in naming the specific patterns of our own loopy logic. It's about moving from a vague feeling of "I'm so anxious" to a specific diagnosis of "Ah, I'm doing it again. I'm using worry as witchcraft." That awareness is the first, and most critical, step to breaking the cycle. You can't fix a problem you can't see. Michelle: That makes sense. It’s like having a label for the monster under the bed. Once you name it, it loses some of its power. So if we're wired to worry and our brains are constantly tricking us with this loopy logic, what do we actually do? How do we get to the 'Shut Up and Move On' part?

Mark: This is where the book shifts from diagnosis to action. McGee argues that the antidote to feeling helpless is to take control of what you can. He proposes a simple framework he calls the 'Triple A' strategy: Awareness, Analysis, and Action. Michelle: Awareness, Analysis, Action. Okay, break that down for me. Mark: Awareness is what we've just been talking about—recognizing when you're worrying and identifying the loopy logic at play. Analysis is about asking a simple question: Is this worry Historical, Hysterical, or Helpful? Michelle: Historical, Hysterical, or Helpful. I like that. Mark: Historical means you're worrying because of a past negative experience, like the author's fear of being late that stems from missing a cue in a school play 35 years ago. Hysterical is an irrational fear with no basis in reality, like sharks in the swimming pool. And Helpful is a legitimate concern that actually requires your attention. The analysis helps you sort your worries into different buckets. You can't do anything about the historical or hysterical ones except acknowledge them and let them go. But the helpful ones? That's where Action comes in. Michelle: And what does that action look like? Mark: It starts with understanding your 'Sphere of Influence.' Imagine three concentric circles. The outer circle is your 'Circle of Concern'—all the things you worry about, like the global economy, politics, the weather. You have zero control here. The inner circle is your 'Circle of Control'—things you have direct power over, like your attitude, your diet, what time you go to bed. And in between is the 'Sphere of Influence'—things you can't control but can influence, like a relationship with a colleague or the outcome of a project. Michelle: So the goal is to stop wasting energy on the outer circle and focus on the inner two. Mark: Precisely. And to actively work on expanding your sphere of influence. McGee tells a powerful story about a factory that was closing down. The company brought in consultants to help the staff find new jobs. Some of the employees were proactive. They came to the workshops, updated their CVs, practiced interview skills. They focused on what they could control and influence. Michelle: And the others? Mark: Another group did nothing. They sat back, complained, and felt like victims. They were stuck in the Circle of Concern, focused on the fact that the factory was closing, something they couldn't change. The consultants found that the proactive group had a much higher chance of finding new work, while the passive group felt hopeless. It was the same situation, but two completely different responses based on where they focused their energy. Michelle: Wow, that's a stark difference. It's not about the situation, but the response. It really brings that 'Sphere of Influence' idea to life. That's a great tool. Give me one more practical tool from the book. Mark: One of my favorites is "Manage Your Imagination." We are constantly directing little movies in our heads. If you're about to give a presentation, you might be playing a horror film where you forget your words and everyone laughs. McGee says you have to be a better director. When that negative movie starts, you have to yell "Cut!" Michelle: Literally yell "Cut!" in your own head? Mark: Yes! Stop the scene. And then consciously rewrite it. Recast the movie with a positive outcome. Imagine yourself delivering the presentation confidently. Imagine the audience nodding along. He even suggests creating an 'imaginary board of directors'—people you admire, living or dead. When you're stuck, you hold a meeting in your head and ask them for advice. What would Ernest Shackleton do? What would Richard Branson suggest? Michelle: That sounds a little bit like loopy logic itself, but I can see how it would work! You're using your imagination for you instead of letting it run against you. Mark: Exactly. You're taking back control of the narrative. And that's the whole point.

Mark: It all comes back to that first paradox we talked about. Our ancient survival hardware—Frank the fretter's brain—is running on modern, high-speed software, and it's causing glitches. We're seeing sabre-toothed tigers in our email inboxes. Michelle: And we're trying to fight them off by throwing bits of paper out the window. Mark: Right. The book's real insight, I think, is that we don't need a full system overhaul. We can't just uninstall our primitive brain. But we can become better operators of our own minds. We can learn to spot the glitches—the loopy logic—and choose a different response. Michelle: It's about recognizing that a feeling isn't a fact. Just because you feel anxious doesn't mean you're in real danger. It might just be your inner Frank overreacting again. And the takeaway is to focus only on your sphere of influence and, as McGee says, take one small action. Maybe today that's just noticing one irrational thought and choosing not to feed it. Mark: That's it. It’s not about never worrying again. The book ends with a great quote from Dan Gardner, who says we should still worry sometimes, but we should also "always remember how very lucky we are to be alive now." It's about perspective. Michelle: So, a final question for our listeners to take with them, inspired by the book: What's one small, 'loopy logic' thought you can challenge this week? Is it a worry you're using as witchcraft? A fear you're feeding? Just notice it. That's the first step. We'd love to hear about your own 'slug army' moments if you feel like sharing. Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.