There’s something reassuring about Stein’s Law, which says, quite simply, “If something cannot go on forever, it will stop.” It’s the sort of logic that should be embroidered on every couch pillow or tattooed on the inner wrist of anyone watching the news while wearing a blood pressure cuff.
At first glance, it sounds like the kind of thing your aunt might say right before offering you a Werther’s Original and a damp paper towel, but look a little deeper and it might just turn into a seriously comforting idea.
Or at least it does once the panic subsides.
I first ran across Stein’s Law during one of my periodic spirals into Internet doomscrolling, which I do in lieu of traditional hobbies like yoga or social interaction.
It was nestled in between a video of a man proposing to his girlfriend with a ring hidden inside a McDonald’s hash brown and an ad for a survival bunker shaped like a pumpkin. The quote struck me, not just because it was true, but because it neatly summarized the current global condition: an overcooked stew of absurdity, tragedy, and loud people in increasingly smaller pants (or maybe they’re just getting fatter; who am I to judge).
Everywhere you look, something ridiculous is happening. The economy now operates like a game of Monopoly being played by toddlers on a sugar high. Politicians seem to be chosen by raffle. One week we’re told to be outraged by what this person did or didn’t do, and the next we’re supposed to be fine with billionaires building escape rockets while their workers eat expired string cheese.
It’s all a bit much. And by “a bit” I mean it’s like being trapped in an elevator with a clown that won’t break eye contact.
But then, Stein’s Law whispers in your ear like a passive-aggressive ghost. If it can’t go on forever, it won’t. That’s it. No need to scream into a pillow or join a commune; unless you really want to. The circus eventually folds its tent, even if it leaves behind glitter and emotional scars.
Take history, for example. No empire lasts forever, not even the really enthusiastic ones with uniforms and theme songs. Rome fell. The fax machine had its time in the sun. So did bell-bottoms, Cold War paranoia, and my brief but passionate obsession with ham radio.
Everything that once seemed unshakable eventually wobbled and collapsed like a badly made soufflé. The same will happen with whatever fresh madness we’re dealing with now.
Of course, knowing this doesn’t always help in the moment. You still have to wake up and face things like rising prices, shrinking toothpaste tubes, and that one coworker who only communicates through regifted memes. You still have to read headlines that feel like they were written by someone throwing darts at a board labeled “plague,” “war,” and “mysterious celebrity death.”
But there’s an odd sort of strength in knowing that even the worst of it is on a timer.
Sometimes I try to apply Stein’s Law to my own life. I remind myself that my neighbor’s rooster, which crows precisely at the moment I drift off to sleep, will eventually either die or be eaten by something larger and less sentimental. That the giant pile of laundry in my bedroom cannot possibly remain there forever. That the strange ache in my left knee will either go away or become the sort of thing I name and talk to like an old friend.
These, too, shall pass. Or, at the very least, transform into a different kind of nuisance.
The trick, I suppose, is to hold on loosely. Don’t white-knuckle your despair. Don’t build a fortress out of your rage. And certainly don’t assume that whatever is happening right now; be it political, personal, or deeply deeply dumb, is permanent. Because the one thing history guarantees is that it won’t be.
Everything we’re going through will eventually give way to something else, and that something else will come with its own brand of irritation and absurdity. But also, hopefully, joy.
Or at least a decent cup of coffee.
So take heart. Be annoyed. Shake your fist at the sky if you must. But remember that nothing lasts forever, not even this. Especially this. The circus is always packing up. The trick is to enjoy the show just enough that when it ends, you’re not entirely sure whether you’re relieved or sad. And then you pick up your popcorn, dust off your lap, and prepare yourself for whatever strange and dazzling nonsense comes next.
It can’t go on forever. Thank God.
Join us in making the world a better place. You’ll be glad that you did.
Cheers friends.