For a long time, I thought I was going crazy.

I’d convinced myself that something horribly wrong was about to happen. I thought I would be stabbed, shot, or arrested every time I left my apartment.

I dreaded being around more than one person at a time. I eyed everyone like they were judging me, pitying me, or attempting to manipulate me.

My attention was divided in every interaction: one half of me would pretend to be normal, while the other half would be trying to keep it together.

I could feel various parts of my face twitching, like I was about to crack. My hands shook constantly.

It got so bad that when a friend came to visit me, I couldn’t drink a glass of water because it kept spilling just from me holding it.

I tried to behave like nothing was wrong, when all I wanted to do was lock myself in a room and curl up in a ball.

If someone had tapped me in the chest, my body would have shattered. If someone had ordered me to cry, my face would have flooded. I felt fragile, weak, and hollow.

I was sure that there was an impending disaster that would melt the social contract and pit my neighbors against me. I saw criminals and undercover cops everywhere I went. All that “world is coming to an end” talk — I bought into it.

I didn’t want drugs, but I was ready to take them. My doctor prescribed me anti-anxiety meds.

When I looked up the side effects, I felt like giving up.

Anxiety…

Insomnia…

Seizures…

Psychosis…

I reluctantly threw the pills in the garbage. I was terrified of making things worse.

I felt ashamed. I didn’t want to be around anyone – not because I stopped liking people, but because I didn’t want them to catch my weird energy.

I wearily watched my girlfriend cry when I confided that I felt dead inside, all the time, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I felt jealous that she could cry, and I couldn’t.

I laid on the ground for 20 minutes one night, wondering whether I should call an ambulance. My heart was beating so hard and fast that I could actually hear it, and my left hand was going numb. It was my first panic attack.

My anxiety lasted for more than a year. It affected how I breathed, how I thought, how I ate, how I slept, and how I talked. I was serious and tired and afraid, all the time. I wanted so badly to return to my normal, lively, care-free, confident self. But I didn’t know how to shake it.

I didn’t want to kill myself, but I was ready for life to be over.

I tried everything to fix myself:

• Meditation
• Yoga
• Deep breathing
• Exercise
• Therapy
• CBT
• Spiritual healers
• Journaling
• Super clean diets
• Supplements
• Fasting
• Prayer
• Volunteering
• Psychedelics

I even took a six-week online course, made specifically for men who wanted to overcome anxiety.

A few of these things helped, a lot of them didn’t. Some of them made things worse.

Then one day, I discovered the cure for my anxiety.

When my mind processed it and recognized it was the solution, I started laughing. The answer had been so obvious all along. In less than one month, I was back to my old self. The cure for my anxiety was free, fun, painless, and immediately effective.

I found the cure for my anxiety in 2012. Since then, a lot has changed for the better:

• This post hit #1 on Google worldwide for the search “anxiety cure”… and then stayed in that position for several years.
• I published a bestselling book on anxiety management
• Tony Robbins called my story “The cure to your stress!”
• I’ve been invited to speak at TEDx, the Pentagon, Microsoft, Stanford, Yale, and Mental Health America about overcoming anxiety

On a personal note, I married the woman of my dreams, and we started a family together.

None of that would’ve happened if I was still fear-stricken, hiding in my bedroom.

I have zero fear that those feelings will ever return. If they do, I’ll be able to wipe them out right away.

My hope is that — by sharing my story — YOU will be able to overcome your anxiety, once and for all.

It’s not nearly as hard as you’d think.

“Adults are just obsolete children.” – Dr. Seuss

Have you ever witnessed a little kid working out on a treadmill?

Or meeting up with a friend to chat over coffee?

Or wearing a suit and making cold-calls?

Or attending a networking conference to hand out their business cards?

HELL NO.

Overly serious adults choose to be lame and boring.

If you saw a kid doing any of those things, you would laugh and wonder what the hell was wrong with them.

Kids don’t run to get in shape; they run to feel the grass beneath their feet and the wind on their face.

Kids don’t have a chat over coffee; they pretend and make jokes and explore the outdoors.

Kids don’t go to work; they play their favorite games.

Kids don’t network; they bond with other fun kids while playing.

There is no ego. There is no guilt. There is no past to regret, and no future to worry about.

They just play.

And that’s what I’d forgotten, what I’d been missing, all along.

Giving myself permission to PLAY was the cure for my anxiety.

It was a subtle but powerful shift in how I viewed the world.

For two years, I had unknowingly prevented myself from playing. I am a workaholic, which can be pretty horrible when you work alone. No one tells you to stop or take a break, or that you’re burning yourself out. I’d find myself tethered to the internet all day, sitting in a chair for 10 hours and staring at a bright screen.

Even when I was “finished,” I’d impulsively check email several times between midnight and 2 a.m. I know it’s dumb and unnecessary and “What could be so important?” and “You need your sleep,” but I did it anyways.

I was oblivious to the fact that my nerves were being frayed for hours on end, and that I desperately needed fun face-to-face time with real human beings.

What made matters worse were the idiotic rituals I’d fallen into…

Drinking coffee all day, then drinking alcohol with friends on the weekend.

I didn’t get outside, I didn’t move enough, I didn’t sleep enough.

My weeks were a cycle of over-stimulation and numbing.

I’d completely deprived myself of play for years!

Even when I was “playing” (doing fun activities with friends), I would still feel guilty or self-conscious. My mind was elsewhere: what I’d done wrong in the past, how I was compromising my future, and how I was wasting the present. I was so critical of how I was living my life that I couldn’t be in the moment.

“A lack of play should be treated like malnutrition: it’s a health risk to your body and mind.” – Stuart Brown

The real problem was my state of mind. I’d become increasingly adept at rejecting any form of “non-productivity.” I couldn’t allow any form of play if it didn’t contribute to earning money or doing something “meaningful.”

Even when I was with friends or doing something that was supposed to be fun, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the time I was wasting. I wasn’t being productive; I was losing valuable time. I had to get back to work!

What would the world do without me and my important work?!

Without realizing it, I became very serious, even though I’d never been serious in my entire life. I couldn’t play because that meant I wasn’t working, and I couldn’t really work because I always felt tired and jaded (because I never let myself play!)

This resulted in me convincing myself that life was a miserable grind for adults, and that I needed to be very serious if I wanted to get through it. I approached everything this way, and treated my work as a form of self-imposed slavery.

Little did I know how limiting that mindset was, and how much it was hurting my work… and my life.

When I moved down to Austin, a friend introduced me to his buddy David via email, and suggested we should meet. David replied to me with the usual request: he asked if I wanted to grab coffee. I paused a moment, then wrote back:

“Hey David, good to meet you. This is an irregular request, but you want to meet up at a park and play catch? Haven’t done that in awhile and it’s a lot more stimulating than sitting around and drinking coffee.”

His response:

“SURE THING. Playing catch sounds like a f*ing blast! I’ll ping you in a bit and if we can’t do it today, let’s play ball tomorrow!”

And it was a blast. It removed the pressure of us having to talk and impress each other, so we could just focus on the game.

I used to feel a bit nervous on first dates. I had to be “on” for hours at a time.

The last date I went on was great — the energy wasn’t uptight at all because we played around the whole time. We ordered whisky Shirley Temples, shot cherry stems through our straws at random people, and cracked jokes about the karaoke singers.

There were no attempts to be cool or charming, or thoughts about where this date might take us — it was all about making the moment fun.

That’s how I’m approaching my meetings and dates from now on:

What games can we play together?

Life is funny.

Back in college, I used to read Tucker Max’s website and think, “What a fun guy.” I’d go out with my friends and drink, and we’d try to create our own crazy stories.

Now, Tucker is a close friend. We play home run derby together on the weekends. We come up with fun pranks we can pull. We make inappropriate jokes until we’re doubled-over laughing.

I just finished six weeks of improv classes — three hours every Monday.

Every session, I was thrust into situations where I was essentially guaranteed to fail and look foolish.

At first, I was nervous and slightly mortified. My heart beat rapidly and I would sweat when I had to perform in front of 15 other people.

But by the end of the six weeks, improv became a tremendous source of strength.

All of us were there to play, to go with the flow and say “YES” to every possible situation we were thrown into, to cheer each other on and have fun together. We all looked foolish, but we all trusted each other.

And that’s how it should be all the time — saying “YES” to every moment, knowing it’s another opportunity for you to embrace life and have fun.

Improv, by the way, was the most effective remedy for panic attacks that I ever found.

I’m signing up for more improv classes. I’m scheduling travel. I’m having fun because I’m making play a priority. And you know what? I feel 100 times better than I ever thought I would.

I’m back to my normal self.

I love life again.

And life loves me right back.

Play is what we all LOVE to do.

Play is where our subconscious naturally guides us.

Play is the state where we are truly ourselves, once we let go of our egos and fear of looking stupid.

Play immerses us in the moment, where we effortlessly slip into flow.

Play allows us to imagine, to create, to bond with and understand each other.

Play is what creates our strongest social circles.

And most importantly, play utterly destroys anxiety.

Play gets you around other humans, face-to-face, and allows you to form a real connection with them.

Play allows you to stop taking your life so damn seriously, so you can start living again.

Life was never supposed to feel so serious or scary in the first place!

The people who try to convince you that it has to be that way just aren’t very good at playing. They’ve forgotten what it’s like.

So have a laugh, remind them, then go find better playmates.

Everyone is looking for someone to have fun with.

Go out, create your own games, then get others to join in.

Just play.

You don’t need more money.

You don’t need more free time.

You can always do it, at any age.

Play is a state of mind.

It is a way to approach the world.

Whether your world is a frightening prison or a loving playground is up to YOU.

It’s only a choice: Anxiety or Play.

Take your pick.