The existential languor resulting from an overabundance of options.
My first job after college was at a book store. I worked at a Borders (RIP) as one of those drowsy book snots who stood behind the center kiosk and directed you to the authors you just mispronounced.
This was in a reasonably wealthy suburb of south jersey – developments, soccer fields, landscaping trucks always parked against the curb. There was money and safety and all the dreary trappings of ideal suburban life.
One day, while rooting around in my manager’s office (I would snoop when bored), I came across some sales figures.
The most popular section in the store? In that nice, air-conditioned store peopled with pretty moms whose shiny bracelets rattled as they browsed, and powerdads who’d pop by to flirt with the baristas before heading to their next meeting?
By a country mile, self help.
So much wealth and opportunity… and nobody’s happy.
Blew my mind.