The Art of Detachment: A Genius Guide To Not Caring About the Little Things

How to stop sweating the stuff that won’t matter in a year. Read time: 7 minutes

1. Here’s the thing you want: You want to stop letting trivial things ruin your day

The spilled coffee. The cancelled flight. The person who didn’t text back. The thing that broke. The plan that fell through.

You want to be the person who just… moves on. Who doesn’t spiral. Who doesn’t carry every minor frustration like it’s a personal attack.

You’ve probably seen that post that goes: “One of the most freeing realizations in life is that you can just… not care about certain things.”

And you think: yeah, okay. But how?

Because right now, you do care. You care when someone’s rude to you. You care when things don’t go as planned. You care when something that shouldn’t be a big deal… feels like a big deal.

You want detachment. Not the cold, apathetic kind. The kind where you still care about what matters, but you stop giving energy to the stuff that doesn’t.

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2. Here’s how to do it:

Step 1: Understand what detachment actually is and isn’t

A couple weeks ago, I walked out to my car and someone had keyed it.

Long, deliberate scratch down the side. The kind that costs money to fix.

My first thought was: Who does this?

My second thought was: I could be really angry about this. Or I could just… not.

Whoever keyed my car is probably miserable. And what they want—whether they know it or not—is for me to be miserable too.

So I just… didn’t let it bother me.

Took a photo for insurance, got in the car, drove away.

A few years ago, that would’ve wrecked my week. I would’ve spiraled. Told everyone. Replayed it in my head. Let it sit in my chest like a weight.

Now? It’s just a scratch. On a car. That I can fix or not fix. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

That’s detachment.

Not apathy. Not pretending nothing matters. Just recognizing that most things aren’t worth the energy we give them.

Here’s what I’ve realized: we have a finite amount of attention and emotional capacity. Decision fatigue is real—neuroscience backs this up. Every time you care about something insignificant, you’re spending resources you don’t get back.

Spilled coffee? That’s energy.

Delayed flight? That’s energy.

Someone didn’t text back? That’s energy.

And most of the time, that energy goes to things that won’t matter tomorrow. Let alone in a year.

The filter I use: If it won’t matter in a year, don’t let it ruin your day.

Step 2: Ask yourself if this will matter in a year (and practice letting go in real time)

When something goes wrong, pause.

Not to suppress what you’re feeling or pretend you’re fine. Just to check in: Will this matter in a year?

There’s this concept in psychology called “affect labeling”—naming what you’re feeling reduces its intensity. When you ask “will this matter in a year?” you’re essentially labeling the situation as temporary. Your brain registers it as less threatening. The emotional charge drops.

But here’s the thing: you don’t just ask the question once and move on. You practice it constantly.

Every time you choose not to spiral over something insignificant, you’re building the muscle.

When you narrate what you’re feeling—even just to yourself—you activate the prefrontal cortex, the part of your brain responsible for executive function and emotional regulation. It literally helps you process and release the emotion faster.

So yeah. I started narrating my frustrations like I’m explaining them to someone else. Sounds kinda silly. But it works.

Step 3: Recognize what you can and can’t control

Most of what stresses us out is stuff we can’t control anyway.

Someone keyed my car. I can’t unkey it. I can’t find out who did it. I can’t make them apologize.

What I can control: whether I let it wreck my day or not.

I started splitting things into two piles: stuff I can control (my reaction, my next move, how I frame it) and stuff I can’t (what already happened, what other people do, external circumstances).

Then I just… stopped thinking about the second pile.

The burnt toast theory:

There’s this idea that’s been floating around—people call it the “burnt toast theory.”

The concept is: when something trivial goes wrong (burnt toast, missed bus, spilled coffee), it might be protecting you from something worse. You miss your train, which makes you late, which means you’re not in the car accident that happened five minutes earlier on your usual route.

Idk if that’s true. Probably not. But I like the reframe.

What if the thing that went wrong… just went wrong? And it’s fine?

Step 4: Stop treating everything like an emergency

Not everything is urgent. Most things aren’t.

But we’ve been conditioned to react to everything immediately. Every notification. Every inconvenience. Every minor frustration.

That’s exhausting.

There’s research showing that humans have an “urgency bias”—we prioritize tasks that feel urgent over tasks that are actually important. It’s why we respond to emails immediately but put off the big project.

Detachment helps you override that bias. You stop reacting to everything like it’s a crisis and start responding to what actually matters.

So now I ask: Is this actually urgent? Or does it just feel that way?

Most of the time, I have more time than I think.

Step 5: Let other people’s chaos be theirs, not yours

Someone else’s bad day doesn’t have to become your bad day.

Someone’s rude to you? That’s about them, not you.

Someone cancels last minute? Annoying, but it’s their mess, not yours.

You don’t have to absorb other people’s energy.

I have a friend who’s chronically late. Like, always. We’ll make plans, and I know they’re going to show up 30-45 minutes late.

It used to bother me. I’d get annoyed, feel disrespected, let it mess with my mood.

Now? I just assume they’ll be late and plan accordingly. Bring a book. Answer emails. Enjoy the extra time.

When they show up, I’m not mad. Because I didn’t let their lateness become my problem.

When someone else is spiraling, stressed, or chaotic, I remind myself: This is theirs to carry, not mine.

You can be supportive. You can be present. But you don’t have to take on their emotional state.

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3. Here’s why it works:

You stop spending energy on things that don’t deserve it.

We have a finite amount of attention and emotional capacity. When you stop caring about the trivial stuff, you have more left over for what actually matters—your relationships, your work, your goals, your peace.

Research from Stanford shows that people who practice “selective attention”—consciously choosing what to focus on—report lower stress levels and higher life satisfaction. It’s not about ignoring everything. It’s about curating what gets your energy.

You train your brain to categorize appropriately.

Not everything deserves the same emotional weight. A scratched car is not the same as a betrayal. A cancelled flight is not the same as a loss.

When you ask “will this matter in a year?” you’re giving your brain permission to categorize things correctly. Neuroscientists call this “cognitive reappraisal”—changing how you think about a situation to change how you feel about it. Studies show it’s one of the most effective emotion regulation strategies.

You take back control.

You can’t control what happens to you. But you can control how much space it takes up in your head.

There’s research on something called “psychological flexibility”—the ability to stay in contact with the present moment and act according to your values, even when you’re experiencing difficult thoughts or emotions. People with higher psychological flexibility have better mental health outcomes, stronger relationships, and higher resilience.

That’s the shift—from reacting to everything to responding to what matters.

You stop absorbing other people’s chaos.

When you stop taking on everyone else’s stress, frustration, and bad moods, you get to keep your energy.

Mirror neurons in our brains make us naturally empathetic—we feel what others feel. That’s beautiful for connection. But it also means we can absorb stress that isn’t ours. Detachment isn’t about shutting off empathy. It’s about having boundaries around what you carry.

You can still be supportive without being consumed.

So yeah. Detachment isn’t about not caring. It’s about knowing what’s worth carrying. And most things? They’re not.

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4. Now go:

This week, try this:

Next time something frustrating happens… spilled drink, cancelled plan, inconvenience… pause before you react.

Ask yourself: Will this matter in a year?

If the answer is no, say out loud: “This is annoying. But I’m letting it go.”

Then move on. See how it feels.

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Start here if you only have 10 minutes:

Think about the last thing that stressed you out. Ask yourself: does this still matter today? If not, that’s proof you didn’t need to carry it as long as you did.

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Next Friday: The Ordinary Story of The Guy Who Learned to Let Go

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P.S. My car is still scratched. I still haven’t fixed it. And honestly? I kinda don’t care. It’s just a car. And whoever keyed it is still miserable. I’m not.

If this resonated, hit reply and tell me what you’re working on letting go of. I read every response.

Writing from Austin, unbothered,

Alex