The Glossary Of Gaps

How to Build a Life That Feels Like a Slow-Motion Train Wreck (With Optional Spectators)

We’ve all met them—the people who seem to have mastered the art of turning every advantage into a liability, every opportunity into a landmine, and every moment of clarity into a chance to double down on their worst instincts. Maybe it’s the friend who insists on “strategic procrastination” while their career stagnates like a swamp in a horror movie. Or the colleague who treats their own emotional well-being like a high-stakes poker game, only to fold when the stakes get too high (because, of course, they’ve already bet their soul on the wrong hand). Welcome to the Glossary of Gaps, where self-sabotage isn’t a bug—it’s a feature, and your life is the operating system. Below, we’ve distilled the art of intentional mediocrity into a foolproof recipe. No culinary skills required. Just a willingness to embrace the slow-motion train wreck.

The Perfectly Sabotaged Life

Yields: One fully functional (but deeply unsatisfying) existence, served with a side of existential dread.

Ingredients:

1 cup Chronic Indecision (preferably organic, from a farm of infinite options)
½ cup Zeigarnik Loop (store-bought, available at any anxiety supermarket)
1 tbsp Sunk Cost of Personality (mix well with regret)
¼ cup Architecture of Blandness (pre-mixed in a sterile, sensory-deprived environment)
2 tbsp Dopamine Exhaustion (shake vigorously until numb)
1 tsp Cannonball Threshold (for dramatic effect)
½ cup Face-Work (Miserable) (season to taste with victimhood)
1 dash Non-Place Lifestyle (optional, but highly recommended for maximum detachment)
1 egg of Antifragility of Ego (whisk until it’s ready to crack under pressure)
Pinch of VAPID Goals (sprinkle liberally over all future plans)
1 cup Flow-State Paralysis (serve chilled, straight from the Infinite Scroll)

Instructions:

Start with a blank canvas. Begin by selecting an environment that offers zero sensory stimulation—think: a hotel lobby with fluorescent lighting, a café with the hum of white noise, or your own bedroom, now rebranded as “The Temple of Neutrality.” Pro tip: If you can’t feel anything, you can’t feel bad about anything. Also, you’ll miss the good stuff.
Mix in the Chronic Indecision. Pour 1 cup of Chronic Indecision into your life’s “mixing bowl” (aka your brain). Stir constantly while watching Netflix. The goal isn’t to decide—it’s to prolong the decision-making process until it becomes a lifestyle. Remember: The best decisions are the ones you never make.
Add the Zeigarnik Loop. Toss in ½ cup of Zeigarnik Loop (the unfinished tasks, the half-read books, the “someday” projects) and let them simmer. The key is to keep them all just out of reach, so you can enjoy the guilt without the follow-through. Think of it as emotional background noise—like a bad song on repeat, but for your soul.
Whisk in the Sunk Cost of Personality. Crack open 1 tbsp of Sunk Cost of Personality and let it bind everything together. This is where you double down on behaviors that no longer serve you, just because “you’ve already invested so much time.” Example: You’ve spent years pretending you’re an introvert, so now you’ll never leave your apartment. Progress!
Season with the Architecture of Blandness. Drizzle ¼ cup of Architecture of Blandness over your life’s “steak” (aka your existence). This is the art of curating a world where nothing is too interesting—no vibrant colors, no loud sounds, no human connection that might require effort. Think of it as emotional white noise. Or, if you’re feeling generous, “minimalist asceticism.”
Stir in the Cannonball Threshold. Add 1 tbsp of Cannonball Threshold and watch as every minor inconvenience becomes a full-blown crisis. A flat tire? Existential dread. A missed call? A sign from the universe. A to-do list? A personal attack. Remember: If it’s not a disaster, you’re not doing it right.
Fold in the Face-Work (Miserable). Mix in ½ cup of Face-Work (Miserable) and let it rise. This is the art of performing victimhood like a Broadway play, complete with dramatic sighs, passive-aggressive posts, and the occasional “I tried, but the system is rigged” monologue. Audience participation encouraged.
Top with Non-Place Lifestyle. Sprinkle ½ cup of Non-Place Lifestyle over the top and let it settle. This is where you live in transit—airports, hostels, “temporary” rentals—because commitment is for people who actually want to belong. Bonus: You can always claim you’re “digital nomads” if anyone asks. No one will fact-check.
Add the Antifragility of Ego. Crack 1 egg of Antifragility of Ego into the mix and let it harden. This is the moment you decide that any criticism is a personal attack, any success is a fluke, and any failure is proof of your superiority. Think of it as emotional armor. Or, if you’re feeling generous, “delusional confidence.”
Finish with VAPID Goals. Drizzle 1 cup of VAPID Goals over the top and let them set. These are your “objectives”—things like “be more present,” “find my passion,” or “just chill.” Pro tip: The vaguer, the better. Specificity is for people who actually want to achieve something.
Let it sit in Flow-State Paralysis. Pour in 1 cup of Flow-State Paralysis and let it chill in the fridge of the Infinite Scroll. This is where you lose track of time, only to realize hours later that you’ve accomplished nothing except scrolling, doomscrolling, and occasionally questioning your life choices. Welcome to the modern human experience.
Serve immediately. Plate your life with a side of existential dread and a garnish of “I’ll start tomorrow.” Enjoy while warm.

Note from the Chef:

“This recipe is best enjoyed with a side of denial. If anyone asks why you’re not happier, just say you’re ‘curating your energy.’ If they ask why you’re not achieving anything, say you’re ‘taking a break from the grind.’ And if they ask why you keep doing this to yourself, just smile and say, ‘It’s a phase.’ Trust me, it’s easier than therapy.”

Conclusion: So there you have it—the blueprint for a life that’s technically functional, but emotionally resembles a slow-motion train wreck with optional spectators. The beauty of this recipe is that it’s not wrong—it’s just inefficient. Like a car that runs on fumes but refuses to get a tune-up, or a relationship that’s held together by duct tape and sheer stubbornness. The real tragedy? You’ll look back one day and wonder why you didn’t just do the thing. But hey, at least you’ll have a great story to tell your grandkids. Or your therapist. Or the people who still talk to you. Somewhere.