The Cult Of The Problem

How to Cultivate Your Own Personal Problem Pantheon Or: The Art of Turning Your Life Into a Never-Ending Greek Tragedy

Let’s be honest—you’ve already mastered the art of self-sabotage. You’ve spent years perfecting the ritual of almost achieving something, only to watch it slip through your fingers like a greased pig at a county fair. Maybe it’s the relationship that’s “almost” right but never quite commits, or the career path that’s “so close” to fulfilling but keeps getting derailed by “unexpected” setbacks. Congratulations! You’re not just a member of the Cult of the Problem—you’re its high priestess/priest, conducting daily ceremonies of frustration with the precision of a mad scientist mixing a potion of existential dread. And today, we’re turning that passion into a recipe—because nothing says “I love you” like a carefully curated menu for failure.

The Ritual of the Unfixable: A Recipe for Perpetual Dissatisfaction

Yields: One fully committed, perpetually frustrated individual. Best served with a side of existential dread and a glass of “Why Not?” wine.

Ingredients:

1 cup of “almost” success (e.g., the job offer you almost took, the love interest who was almost “the one,” the fitness routine you almost stuck to)
½ cup of “but what if?” syndrome (the endless mental replay of scenarios where just one thing could’ve gone differently)
1 tbsp of “it’s not you, it’s me… but also you” (the relationship equivalent of a broken Wi-Fi signal)
¼ cup of “I could fix this, but why bother?” (the art of passive incompetence)
1 dash of “it’s not a bug, it’s a feature” (corporate-speak for “we’re too lazy to actually solve this”)
1 tsp of “I’m just not in the right headspace” (the ultimate cop-out, like saying “I’m allergic” to homework)
1 pinch of “the market is broken” (or your thermostat, or your printer, or your life)
1 serving of “I’ll do it tomorrow” (procrastination as a spiritual practice)
1 side of “me too” validation (the sacred handshake of the Cult)

Instructions:

Find Your Sacred Problem Start by identifying a problem that’s been gnawing at you for at least three months. It could be anything—your “almost” apartment, the “flawed” person you’re dating, the “unfixable” printer that’s been jamming since 2019. This is your altar. Light a candle (or a cigarette, if you’re feeling extra dramatic). Pro tip: If you can’t find a problem, invent one. The world is your oyster, and oysters are very good at hiding pearls of frustration.
Diagnose It to Death Grab your notebook (or open a blank Google Doc titled “Why This Is Ruining My Life”) and list every possible reason this problem could be your fault. Include things like “I’m not ambitious enough,” “I’m too picky,” or “I clearly don’t deserve happiness.” Bonus points if you can tie it to a childhood trauma or a bad breakup from 2017. Commentary: This step is where you channel your inner Schopenhauer, staring into the abyss and loving it. The goal isn’t resolution—it’s analysis paralysis.
Recruit Your Cult Members Gather your inner circle (or your online echo chamber) and present your problem as if it’s the most tragic thing to ever happen to a human being. Use phrases like “I feel so seen” or “This is so relatable.” Avoid offering solutions—this is a ritual, not a support group. Example: “I almost got the promotion, but then HR ‘reorganized’ and now I’m back to square one. Me too.”
Pivot (But Don’t Finish) When someone suggests a solution—anyone—immediately pivot to a new problem. If they say “Just apply for another job,” reply, “But what if I’m not cut out for leadership?” If they say “Maybe you should talk to them,” say, “But what if they’re also hiding something?” The key is to keep the problem alive, not solve it. Commentary: This is where you become a master of the “almost.” You’re not there yet, but you’re so close. Like a squirrel who’s almost buried all its acorns… but then remembers it’s winter and starts digging again.
Embrace the “Next Problem” Strategy The moment you almost achieve something (e.g., you find a new apartment but the lease is “too short”), immediately set a new goal that’s just out of reach. This keeps the dopamine flowing like a faucet left on “full” in a hurricane. The goal isn’t happiness—it’s perpetual motion. Example: You finally save enough for a down payment… but then you realize the neighborhood has “too much foot traffic.”
Rebrand Your Flaws as Features When someone points out a flaw in your problem (e.g., “This printer is actually broken”), rebrand it as a “feature.” Your printer isn’t broken—it’s “vintage,” “characterful,” or “part of the journey.” Your “almost” relationship isn’t flawed—it’s “mysterious” or “full of potential.” Commentary: This is the corporate world’s gift to the Cult. If it’s not a bug, it’s a feature—because features are endless.
Celebrate the Act of Complaining End the ritual by gathering your cult members for a “Bad Day” Vent Session. No solutions allowed—only validation. If someone dares to suggest fixing the problem, they’re excommunicated. The goal is to leave feeling seen and dissatisfied. Example: “I almost got the promotion, but then I got ‘feedback’ that was so vague I couldn’t even process it. Me too.”

Note from the Chef:

This recipe is not for the faint of heart. It requires a willingness to embrace the unsolvable, to find joy in the “almost,” and to treat your life like a never-ending Greek tragedy where the chorus keeps yelling, “But why does this keep happening to me?!” The key is to remember: you’re not failing—you’re curating*. And if anyone tries to hand you a solution, just smile and say, “I’ll take it… in about three months.”

Conclusion: So there you have it—the blueprint for turning your life into a masterclass in self-sabotage. You’re not lazy, you’re strategic. You’re not unhappy, you’re philosophical. And you’re not stuck, you’re in a phase. The world is full of problems, and the Cult of the Problem is just a fancy way of saying “I love you, but I’m not ready to commit to fixing anything.”

In the end, the only thing worse than a problem you can’t solve? A life where everything is solved. And let’s be real—where’s the fun in that?