I used to worry about everything. Of course, I was like 10 years old, but if you told me the sun looked funny, I’d assume it was about to explode. 

I wasn’t just a worrier — I was the CEO of Catastrophe Management and business was booming.

It all came to a head five years ago. It started on one unremarkable Tuesday morning, when our science teacher, Mr. Decker announced that we would be doing a group project on “environmental changes.” He said this in a very offhanded manner, but, to me, it was more along the lines of, “You alone are responsible for saving humanity.”

I became obsessed. My group – my best friend Chody and our quiet classmate Fagio – just wanted to make a slideshow about recycling, but I had bigger plans. For some reason, I convinced myself that if we didn’t raise awareness about global warming, the penguins would become extinct, the ice caps would melt away and the Earth would become a giant baked potato!

By day two, I’d written out a 12-step action plan that included community outreach, posters and a possible documentary. Chody basically just told me to chill. Fagio nodded quietly, but I took it as support. He just didn’t want to argue with me.

Then came the night before our presentation. I read online that a meteor had passed near Earth the month before, and somehow my brain twisted that into, “The next one is coming tomorrow.” I didn’t sleep. I lay awake calculating what angle a meteor would need to approach Earth for it to hit our school and my house. At 3 a.m., I started writing a letter to NASA offering my help.

The next morning, I came to school looking like a zombie on espresso. I had brought my emergency supplies – a flashlight, a whistle, three granola bars and duct tape – because in my head, heroes always had duct tape. When Chody saw me, he said, “Dude, are you camping or presenting?”

I told him, “You’ll thank me when the sky is on fire.”

I was having lunch when I saw kids staring at the sky. My heart fell. I started running and shouted, “Is it happening?” They had all jumped. It turned out they were only watching a kite getting stuck in a tree.

When I arrived at class for our presentation, Mr. Decker glanced at my survival pack and raised an eyebrow. “Marco, are you… planning to flee the room midway?” I launched into an explanation of the meteor, the penguins and my NASA application. By the time I finished, the class was howling. Even Fagio cracked a smile.

Mr. Decker said, still chuckling, “Marco, life is full of problems, but panicking about all of them just adds one more. Sometimes the best solution is to do what you can, then let the rest go.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. That afternoon, I decided to test his theory. The next day I didn’t worry about anything or anyone. That was the moment I realized most of the disasters I’d been preparing for didn’t exist. The real problem was in my head.

Now, whenever I start to spiral when something bothers me, or I start overthinking, I think “what should happen will happen.” It’s so simple, but it works.

Last week, when my little sister accidentally dropped my phone in the sink, I just shrugged and grabbed a towel. Six months ago, I’d have written a eulogy. So yeah, I still care about school and some stuff. But I’ve learned that life’s a lot more fun when you stop caring about every small detail that won’t affect you.