Fear of Wasting Time (Part I)
Youtube algorithms, analyzing triggers, and wasting time
Does anyone else’s YouTube algorithm keep recommending different versions of the same video? I’m always seeing new people on my feed, usually sitting on a couch, or somewhere in the woods, with a Dji microphone in hand giving life advice to thousands of viewers. It’s almost always accompanied with an obnoxious title, e.g., “Give me 10 minutes and you’ll never be insecure again.” There’s a good chance that you’ve seen them a few times, and if you have, what do you think about them? I find it kind of funny. YouTube titles sound more and more like sales pitches these days, and it clearly works—some of these videos explode within a matter of a few weeks.
I’m most interested in one in particular: “It took me 30+ years to realize what I’ll tell you in 10 minutes.” I’ve seen this title multiple times, across many channels, with varying degrees of success. Which one was the original I have no idea, but it’s my best guess that the one pictured below started the trend. This video, which was posted 3 months ago, has now accumulated 5.2 million views. Its virality is obviously tied to an emotional element—besides the pitchy-sounding title, which is strong enough on its own, the image of an older woman alongside the words “Don’t waste your life” elicits a strong emotional response, something beyond plain curiosity. It evokes regret, poking at a fear we all have: wasting time. It makes me wonder: What does it mean to waste your life?
The woman in the video, Maggie McCormack, starts with a clean introduction: “What if I told you that the thing you’re desperately chasing—the perfect body, fame, success, more money—isn’t actually what you want?” She’s standing in the woods and has a slight British accent. “I have spent the last 30 years figuring this out, and I’m going to save you decades of time, frustration, and suffering in the next 10 minutes.” She begins to tell her story of wanting to be an actor since she was a little girl, acting being the only thing that made her feel special and seen: “I always thought that the next role would be it for me,” she confesses. “It will be the one that makes me famous.” So far, there’s no hint of remorse that I gathered from the title—instead, Maggie’s voice embodies a quiet acceptance, one of humility. Maggie is a podiatrist, working with patients ages 70 and up, which has given her a new perspective on life: “I think these patients understand something crucial, which is that we’re either evolving or devolving, but we’re never staying the same. If you’re not learning or growing or experiencing, you’re dying,” she says obstinately. “You’re getting smaller, your world is getting smaller. You’re stunted.” This is Maggie’s definition of wasting your life—willful participation in the never-ending chase for something better; the desire to always one-up yourself in past, present, and future.
My favorite part of the video is when she interrogates her old fears as it speaks to me directly: “It became clear to me that my fear was around scarcity, of there not being enough and not being safe.” Fear of wasting time is exactly that—a fear of scarcity—that there is never enough time, or that time escapes us entirely, becoming something of an enemy. That is what I’m facing right now—a distrust with time. Maggie continues: “But I can give myself that feeling of safety and security right now, by trusting that it’s a benevolent universe, [in] trusting that things always work out for me.” Is this what I’m looking for, building trust with time? What does it mean to trust time? What would happen if I started thinking about my life this way?
I enjoyed hearing Maggie’s story, but there’s something I still can’t get over: The thumbnail and title as emotional bait. I’m not going to pretend that this sales pitch sounding, FOMO-inducing clickbait hasn’t worked on me before. Maggie’s affected me the most, giving me a much more visceral reaction than the others. It unsettles me because of how much time I know I’ve wasted, even purposefully. I’ve wasted months of my life applying for jobs I knew I didn’t want, precious morning hours sleeping past noon, and deferred to mindless entertainment instead of hobbies, cursing myself for not spending time on what I cared about most (as I write this, I realize how silly all of this is—why does it matter so much?). I’ve had phases where days like these turned into weeks, becoming periods of my life that I would prefer to forget about entirely. This shame must be what makes Don’t waste your life so arresting—it feels like I’ve been caught.
If you asked me how I felt about 2024 a few months ago, I probably would’ve described it as a waste. Now, it feels more accurate to describe it as necessary. From waste to necessary. Like most things, it depends on how you look at it.
While some of these videos mean well, I can’t help but be annoyed by their tactics. Some titles possess a gaslighting meanness (“You don’t want to live the life you want to live”) while others are bold in their confidence (“Spare me 6 minutes and I’ll give you 10 years of your life back”). I know it’s for an algorithm, but that doesn’t make me cringe any less. It’s why I resist them—I don’t want to be easily won. These titles remind me of interventions, the kind your parents gave you growing up, urging you not to make the same mistakes they’ve made and scolding you for no other reason than your youth. Their scrupulousness inspiring fear, not wisdom. “I’m telling you this because I want you to learn from my mistakes,” They caution. While it’s meant in good faith, I can’t help but think about how meaningless it is because we don’t learn from other people’s mistakes, but our own. Making mistakes (which is also subjective) and getting through them is more valuable than trying to make the best possible decision at all times, especially for reasons outside of yourself, influenced by other people. Mere discretion can’t substitute lived experience, and wisdom doesn’t come from avoiding life. Moving through fear is the wisdom. Maybe that’s what I need to learn—to trust my myself and where I’m going, and in doing so, trust time.
I’m reminded of a text post I saw on Tumblr: I love my mistakes. I had fun. I love the idea of loving mistakes. Avoiding mistakes is tiptoeing around life rather than living it, and I would rather laugh at or even appreciate life’s inevitable wastefulness than yield to anxiety. Clarice Lispector confessed to her life being made up of many useless parts but that they served in transporting her from one place to another in Too Much of Life:
With me there was a certain stoicism because part of my past had proved so pointless. But then how many other pointless things have I done? Life is short: but if we cut off all the dead bits, it becomes very short indeed. Does it turn a lifetime into a matter of only a few days? Well, we mustn’t forget that the pointless bits had, at the time, been lived with great gusto (for criminal law). Which in some ways repays the effort […] many pointless things in life serve, like that taxi, to transport us from one useful point to another.
As I was writing this post, I felt that stoicism. The fear of wasting my life began to feel silly, my triggers redundant. If I let go a little, and step back to see myself objectively, I’ll realize the futility of this anxiety. I don’t have to cringe at my past. I don’t have to be anxious about my future. There’s no need to frantically check myself and make sure I’m making the most out of my life because that is precisely what takes me out of it.
My struggle against time is a fight between two selves. There’s the self that is being built slowly and with intention, committing to unshakeable values and desires, creating a rhythm of her own. Her actions imply a natural trust in time. The other self internalizes capitalist logic, equating value with speed, and frequently compares herself against other people’s models of what is appropriate or productive. She gives in to algorithms. The passage of time stupefies her. These selves exist simultaneously and in equal capacity, so what is the solution?
I think it’s really quite simple: Trusting myself. Finding out what it is I want out of life, and then seeking it. Continuing to spend time in ways that align with my values and desires as I always have, as I already do. How can there be waste in that?
🙏🙏🙏