10 Tiny Compromises That Turned Me Into an “It’s Fine” Guy
How I learned to stop complaining and love the minor inconveniences that are actively killing me
1. I keep the wooden spoons
I hate them. The grain against my teeth feels like licking a chalkboard, but they were on sale and now they squat in the drawer like smug little logs. Every stir’s a chore; every bite a punishment. Still, I nod like Julia Child and mutter, it’s fine.
2. The chair that hisses
At work, I sit in an office chair that exhaled its last breath back in ‘08. Now it wheezes whenever I move, like a goose slowly being strangled. Coworkers think I’m farting. I do not correct them. I just swivel, goose-gas escaping, and tell myself, it’s probably fine.
3. The curtains that block nothing
My partner chose them. Technically, they’re curtains; functionally, they’re long scarves. They repel exactly 3% of sunlight—leaving 97% to remind me what I’m missing. I wake up blinded by photons two hours before my alarm goes off for work. I smile weakly and whisper, it’s fine, today’s gonna be fine.
4. Coffee sizing is a psy-op
I used to order medium. Then medium vanished. Now I drink “tall,” which is small, or “grande,” which is medium, but not really. Sometimes I panic and say “regular” and the barista hands me tea like I’m eighty. I sip politely and mutter, it’s fine, tastes like soil but it’s actually fine.
5. The neighbour’s leaf blower
Every Saturday at 7 a.m., my neighbour unleashes a gas-powered Wagnerian opera. It lasts exactly as long as my REM cycle. The first few months, I considered leaving a stern note. Then I considered murder. Now I lie awake, decibels shredding my ear drums like the FBI shredded the Epstein files, all the while repeating, IT’S FINE.
6. The refrigerator that clicks
It’s one click every 17 seconds, like a metronome for madness. Repair estimates start at $400, so instead we live with it. Our entire marriage now runs on the beat. Arguments, apologies, sex—all syncopated to the fridge. My wife once said, “This is killing us.” I nodded on the downbeat and said, it’s honestly fine, seventeen seconds at a time.
7. The building Wi-Fi that knows too much
It used to be called “NETGEAR498.” Now it’s “I Can Hear You Fight.” Subtle. I don’t know who changed it, but every time I log on I wonder which argument they heard—the curtain debate, the fridge clicking, the sex with the fridge clicking. I hover over the network, sigh, then connect to I Can Hear You Fight, murmuring, totally, acceptably fine.
8. The funeral slideshow
When my uncle died, the family used free-trial software for the memorial. A watermark reading “Powered by Animoto Lite” shimmered across his face as Ave Maria played. I wanted to protest, but I just dabbed my eyes with a church program and whispered, it’s fine, I’ll upgrade to Premium next time, it’s fine. Now every time I see him in old photos, I half expect a pop-up ad.
9. The doctor’s clipboard
I went for a check-up. The doctor glanced at my chart and said, “Says here you’re forty-seven.” I’m not. I’m thirty-three. I opened my mouth to correct him, but he was already typing, already billing. So I let myself age fourteen years without fanfare. Medicare will come early, and honestly? It’s fine, really it’s fine.
10. The emergency alert system
Last night, my phone screamed with one of those government alerts: “THIS IS A TEST.” Except it didn’t stop. It kept going. “THIS IS NOT A TEST. THIS IS A TEST OF YOUR PATIENCE. THIS MESSAGE WILL REPEAT AT RANDOM INTERVALS FOREVER. YOU WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.” I shut my eyes, let the screen sear red through my eyelids, and chanted to the rhythm of the fridge: it’s fine, it’s fine, please let it be fine, please.
BONUS: The fridge finally stopped clicking this morning. At first I thought, thank God. Then I realized I had no idea how to argue or apologize or sleep or make love without it. I tapped my thigh while counting to seventeen, and whispered, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine.