When I find myself endlessly (and purposelessly) ruminating, worrying, or otherwise spiraling in a negative direction, maybe half the time I can pull myself from that psychological eddy by reframing how I’m thinking about the project, relationship, approach, outcome, or whatever else I’m fixated on.

I remind myself that whatever it is I’m worrying about doesn’t need to look, feel, or turn out any particular way.

I’ll actually sometimes say, aloud, “It doesn’t have to be any particular way.”

This strangely rhythmic phrase serves as a touchstone for all the things I do—the malleable structures that guide my life.

It’s a prompt that helps me recall in the moment that all of these things can be, and often should be, me-shaped; they don’t need to adhere to anyone else’s standards to be valuable and successful.

It helps me remember that I’m aiming for outcomes optimized for my priorities and preferences, not those reinforced by the societal milieu of which I’m a part (by choice and by happenstance).

This doesn’t apply in every situation or for every set of concerns, but a surprising amount of the time a simple reminder that the focus of my (negative) attention doesn’t have to look the way I’m worried it doesn’t look and doesn’t need to serve a purpose I’m concerned it won’t serve, is liberating.

I’m not (usually) consciously worried about adhering to those standards, but some part of me keeps tabs on them, compares and contrasts, and shows me endless snapshots of who I am and how I’m doing, all taken from unflattering angles.

The things I do, though, needn’t be done in the default, expected fashion. Photos taken from those (standard) angles are bound to look weird and compositionally unsound by definition.

Even being generally thoughtful about this—orienting my life around my sense of what’s valuable and interesting and morally correct—isn’t enough to stave off this subconscious nudge toward adhering to (perceived) norms 100% of the time.

So I remind myself:

My life, my work, my connections, my goals and approaches and conclusions and perspectives and tastes and trajectory don’t have to make sense to anyone but me.

And though I still choose to adopt others’ standards in many facets of what I do and pursue, I can feel my brain and those clusters of concerns decompressing and unclenching every time I remind myself that a failure to do so is no failure.

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