The same concept applies to our mental space: Articulate a controversial, thoughtful or offensive message towards someone, and you’ll cross that line through his mental comfort-zone. This will garner a reaction, spoken or unspoken, and a memory of the confrontation.

If you approach this space — tiptoeing to the delicate edge of unease without crossing over — people sense it. This is an optimal line to constantly approach with ideas. It’s how people remember them.

Tomorrow: “I’m not sure, but, I think the market will be down.”

This answer is reflective of the current market condition. If the general sentiment — typically what’s portrayed by the mainstream financial media — is pessimistic, the average person will mirror and predict down.

One year from now: “The market will be recovering and probably up by a little bit.”

This answer is often more optimistic because the time period — one year from now — is out of reach. We assume, for one reason or another, that things will “get better by then.” Someone will do something to make it better. This prediction is based on nothing.

Five years from now: “The market will definitely be surging and the economy will be back on track.”

The most illogical and predictable answer of the set results from pushing time parameters out of reality’s grasp. This answer won’t change whether the parameters are five years, ten years or twenty years into the future. The idea is that we can’t fathom what market conditions, let alone our personal conditions, will have in store that far away. We assume that things “will get better,” just because they will.

I don’t think think there is anything wrong, on a personal level, with inherent, unjustified optimism, or what John Cassidy might call rational irrationality. It’s certainly more pleasant than being an unjustified pessimist. But, I do think unjustified, rationality-free optimism can pollute productivity and decision making.

If you assume things (the market, a relationship, hobby, career, etc.) are just going to “get better” without reason, you place yourself in a safety zone, and one of inaction. Unjustified optimism is equipped with mental stagnancy: it assumes natural improvement. It’s as meritless as assuming the stock market will go up if we “keep doing what we are already doing,” just because it will.

I am in favor of, however, justified optimism: things will get better because of this, this and this. Or, because I’m going to do this better or differently. But, unjustified optimism — portrayed by the people that “answer” the stock market questions above — is for fools.

Unjustified optimism allows us to become mentally dormant, permitting cruise control. The solution to any dilemma becomes a quest to amass more of what we are already doing. Ridding ourselves of unjustified optimism creates a natural, inventive realism. It forces us to improve reality, rather than adapting to unreality.

Picasso said, “Even if you are wealthy, act poor.” The same applies to outlook: if you are feeling unnecessarily optimistic, it’s probably a time to become grounded. Focus on reality — things you can touch, feel, change and improve — rather than assuming an externality will accomplish something for you, just because it will.

Stress can be debilitating. We’ve all felt it wrap its tentacles around our mind and body, holding us back from executing. I’d argue that the use for stress, fighting or flighting, has become less evolutionary useful in the modern world compared to when our objectives were primarily to hunt or gather. Most of us live and work in front of screens, with little use for the reflex to fight or flight digitally.

Does our urge to fight or flight when we’re stressed by a proposal, overflowing inbox or presentation really help get it done? There’s really nothing inherently stressful, by definition, about any of the things we commonly stress about.

I think, in general, this is the hurdle many of us face with mental health: often what our mind and body is telling us isn’t wrong, it’s just out of context.

The way I overcome stress, specifically in the business environment, is convincing myself it’s completely meaningless at the moment. If the evolutionary directions of stress are to fight someone or flight somewhere, and neither of these actions accommodate my current objectives, I can ignore it. Stress, for the time being, is imaginary.

There is a story the classic screenwriter Nora Ephron tells from her journalism days in high school, also discussed in the book Made To Stick, that positively proves the result of leaving ambiguous, interpretive holes in our work’s narrative. The story revolves around Ephron’s first news writing assignment, where the eager students, including Ephron, approached with the instinct to report strictly who, what, where, when, why–and then to connect.

The class assignment included a series of situational facts about a high school, describing how the entire faculty would be out of their classrooms for an educational conference the following Thursday. The aspiring journalists were supposed to transpose the facts, then write the respective report. The students wrote their leads, many describing a similar situation regarding the conference, each written to portray where the teachers were going, when they would be gone, who would be speaking, etc.

After the teacher collected the assignments, which were all stylistically alike, he paused, stared and gently proclaimed:

“The lead to the story is ‘There will be no school next Thursday.’ “

Ephron’s story, with the zinger of wisdom being the teacher’s response regarding what the lead should have been, portrays the “less is more” principal.

Effectively using “less” should not have a direct intention to mislead, nor should any information actively be removed. But, by stating an initial fact that leaves holes to be filled, it forces an audience to question not only what will be stated next, but also to ponder the intent of the writer. When an artist, a writer in this case, becomes more interesting than the work itself, it creates a sense of mystery, even urgency, surrounding the product.

And that, in a sense, becomes an addictive narrative.