How Modern Society’s Glorification of Anxiety Masks Critical Health Risks

Vigorinus, known to everyone as the Most Inspiring Visionary (although my distant cousin called him the glitter-show guy), appeared each morning on a hastily assembled platform outside the trendy Smoothie & Selfie café. He shouted such energizing slogans it felt like fireworks of positivity were about to explode. Spreading his arms wide, as though advertising a luxurious deodorant, he roared: Rejoice before me. But at night, when the cheers died down and a faint confetti scent still lingered in his tiny room, a cruel doubt always caught up with him, murmuring: If this entire show vanished, what would remain of you.

Vigorinus was tormented by the fear of fading into nothingness without the crowd’s applause. He clad himself in such glaringly flamboyant ensembles that the lone chair in his cramped room seemed to squeak and inch toward the exit in protest, as though it simply could not bear another peacock-inspired outfit from its master. Still, he stubbornly stepped onto the stage, soaking up the ovations, yet feeling at heart like that forgotten puppy once left behind on a day meant for joy and adventure. The ache of unlovedness began in childhood, when a perpetually preoccupied family brushed aside his budding talents, making every new burst of applause feel like a desperate shield against the echo of his own loneliness.

Whenever loneliness struck him like a sudden gust of wind, Vigorinus fought back with his own style of dance therapy. He spun into elaborate pirouettes and flung himself into random flowerbeds with dramatic flair, praying each time that the swift impact on soil and petals would somehow smother the aching void inside.

One morning, Vigorinus blanketed every street with bold posters announcing at dawn: The Most Secret Secret of Success revealed by me. The townspeople showed up out of sheer curiosity—after all, who could resist a free spectacle just waiting to be discovered?

And so, just as the sun timidly rose beyond the rooftops, Vigorinus stepped onto the stage, drained as if he had spent the entire night chasing a wild swarm of bees, mistaking their endless drone for the cheers of adoring fans. After catching his breath, he suddenly admitted: 'Honestly... I have no idea why I'm here.' At that very instant, the royal jester blustered onto the stage with urgent news: someone had stolen the royal crowns Vigorinus was supposed to guard! The crowd gasped, applause died, and uncertainty filled the air—no one could decide whether to scold him or feel sorry for him.

Vigorinus felt an odd, unexplainable relief: for once, he stood before something more urgent than a fleeting burst of applause. It was as if someone had drenched him in a bracing bucket of reality: you could bury yourself beneath confetti from head to toe, but safeguarding the royal treasury was a far graver matter. In that instant, he understood that no swell of cheers could ever seal the hole gnawing at his heart.

Lifting his eyes to the bewildered crowd, Vigorinus admitted it was time not only to reclaim the stolen crowns but also to restore his own wounded spirit. No more morning bursts of glitter: a crown must be safeguarded just as a heart must be mended. True success, he realized, is that quiet, steady feeling that flourishes even when the applause fades. And if the king has been left without his crown, maybe the guard-hero should pause to wonder whether he lost his own head while chasing someone else’s approval.

By the following day, Vigorinus set out for the castle to assist in the quest for the missing crowns. For the first time, he chose not to slip away with the applause but to devote himself to a task that mattered not just to him, but to the entire kingdom. And, as it turned out, this bold endeavor proved the finest remedy for his spirit.

Take a closer look at your own life: are you caught up in chasing thunderous applause, overlooking your own ‘crowns’? Perhaps it’s time to set aside the glitter and refocus on the things that truly matter.