The inevitability of change might be a universal constant

As I weave my way through my dissertation and my crippling uncertainty surrounding it's progress - ranging from participant recruitment, good feedback, and the mounting task of analysis and discussion - I choose to find comfort and solace in many strange corners of the everyday. I watch The Big Bang Theory - trying to fictionally position myself as a PhD researcher alongside the brilliant minds of Sheldon, Leonard, Raj, Howard, Bernadette and Amy Farrah Fowler (for some reason you have to say Amy's name in full). One can dream. Then there's Penny, who whilst not as intellectually astute as her fictional counterparts, embody's envious interpersonal skills, resilience, dating prestige and beauty. Additionally my comforts also exist in keeping my house in order, getting my tasks out of the way, regular catch ups with my friends, wrestling with my dog, planning spontaneous activities, small debates with strangers on X and, last but not least, my Google calendar - with all the little colourful blocks that somehow keep my private practice, university, clinical placement and social life from completely imploding. When I'm feeling really stressed I may take to tidying my bookshelf, noticing this or that important thing that needs addressing like changing energy or butter suppliers, or better yet, succumbing to a sudden overwhelming urge to take a really long, unproductive, completely unnecessary nap. My comforts superficially help with the ever mounting tasks ahead of me - so, as long as I keep doing other things, I avoid the potentially negative emotion that comes from deciding to just press on. What will it mean when the dissertation is done? What if I fail? What's next? What if I succeed? What if it's truly great? Then what? What if someone doesn't like it? And so on. What's worse, I am a hugely conscientious person. Layer that on top of periodical procrastination and you have an absolute, self inflicted disaster.

Choice is a core tenet of our everyday existence. To be human is to exist in a perpetual state of deliberation, conflict and compromise. A to and fro of give and take, sacrifice and acceptance. Our very consciousness and sentience is embedded in the only single consistency that really is, no consistency at all (one of the final realisations of Sheldon's in Big Bang - "the inevitability of change might be a universal constant" - something beautifully highlighted to him by no other than Penny). Anything that suggests otherwise is a temporary illusion we adopt to balance and stabilise ourselves in the ever terrifying concept of complete unfettered entropy, chaos, harrowing, obliterating nothingness and death.

I know, I know, "it's the weekend, lighten up Ele!"

No.

The only way I or anyone else for that matter can lighten up is by first accepting this truth.

Anyone that follows existential philosophy will embrace the notion of death. Existential therapists embrace it so much so it becomes water cooler chitchat, a running inside joke and a perpetual state of rumination around every single, little decision we make. From where to eat for lunch to every nuanced action, reaction, word and interplay between us (and our clients). Anxiety is our welcome friend and we exist very far away from labels and harmful, pseudoscientific correlations that deter from our choices. To be existential is to embrace the relational dance, the juggling and balancing act of interpersonal conflict and the beauty and depth of profound intimacy, connection and loss. As well as embracing the facts and truths about our circumstances and who we are (such as genetic personality). We also accept the pressures and pitfalls of suffering and choice. We know, all too well, that you can't really ever know if you're making the right choice, so a rushed one can be all the more exhilarating and a slow one no more or less effective. Either way, something gets left behind.

With that in mind, contrary to popular belief, humans are not completely alone—nor are we meant to be. We are rarely dependent solely on ourselves; instead, we are part of a complex social web. Just as we may one day need others—whether it’s to help us through a crisis or simply to carry the shopping—we must also accept that others may need us. It’s not just something we can offer; it’s something we must learn to give if we want to avoid the consequence of complete and helpless isolation. To be clear, I’m not talking about the joy of solitude. I’m referring to a cold, absolute aloneness—when no one even knows we exist.

Alcoholics Anonymous has repeatedly shown the profound importance of relational reciprocity, even in the face of dire circumstances. In the most stoic, capitalist, and competitive environments, we still see the enduring relevance of team sports, teamwork, family life, religion, and community. These serve as powerful reminders of our tribal roots and the fundamental need to live among others, each contributing in our own unique ways. While our companions and loved ones may help us survive, they also make life worth living—far more so than most materialistic pursuits. We owe it to them, and to the world at large, to pay this consideration forward.

I find myself thinking back to The Big Bang Theory and the rich variety within its group of characters. Yes, I know—it’s a TV show. But like Friends, it captures a central social truth: we are all different. Sheldon, the socially inept genius with an evangelical upbringing; Leonard, the nerdy sweetheart hopelessly in love with Penny; Raj, the shy, animal-loving dreamer wrestling with his Indian heritage; and Howard, the awkward yet witty Jewish romantic with a very close bond with his mother. Then there are the women: Bernadette, showing us that femininity, strength, and affirmation can coexist; Amy, who, despite her social awkwardness, demonstrates loyalty, intellect, and impeccable style; and then there's Penny who for a long time existed as the only girl in the group, helping the lads navigate the throes of a modern day California social life.

This diversity makes me reflect on Nietzsche’s philosophy. Nietzsche believed in embracing our human traits, whatever they might be. Whether we’re disagreeable, neurotic, or anything else, these traits have evolved, been inherited, and adapted to help us survive. Coexisting means accepting the sometimes messy misalignment of all these characteristics.  It's recognising that there has been less time since the last dinosaurs and the start of humanity than there was from the first dinosaur to the last. Our time on this planet is so recent and is still so, very young. If we try to survive by aligning only with those who are just like us, our chances of success as a group diminish. Our diversity is a gift, and we must embrace it, even when it challenges us.

So, are you a Howard, seeking constant validation? A Sheldon, viewing the world from above, teasing others as though they’re part of a grand social experiment? Or maybe you’re an Amy, on an endless quest for acceptance, sometimes forgetting your own dignity in the process? Whatever traits you identify with, it’s essential to be honest with yourself. Examine what lies beneath your moral or virtuous hierarchy. Why do you believe it to be right?

You might feel uncomfortable with Sheldon’s social experiments, but people like him help sharpen our understanding of the world. They remind us of what we are not. The Sheldons of the world are conscientious and meticulous, and while their methods may feel rigid, they maintain social order and hold the line against chaos. Of course, no one is just one thing. People are endlessly complex, beautiful, and ever-changing.

Life will always be touched by negative emotions—they are inevitable and even necessary. Much of this negativity arises in our relationships with others, as we adapt to the constant signals and warnings they bring. But it is through these challenges that we grow and find meaning in our connections and with our lives as a whole.