Most weekends, my wife and I usually find ourselves enjoying nice cocktails and good food at a dog-friendly establishment. But on this occasion, Kate was busy accompanying violin students (one of the few downsides being that music-related gigs often occur on non-weekdays).

So the Saturday-before-last, I had 8 glorious hours all to myself.

This rarely happens, when long stretches of free time suddenly appear before you. It's a golden opportunity to access that intense mode of concentration that Cal Newport talks about in Deep Work.

But I was on the verge of burnout, so I engaged in my favorite recuperation technique instead:

Doing nothing.

Well, not exactly. My regimen largely consisted of listening to classical and jazz music, playing with my corgis, reading Calvin and Hobbes, and staring off into space while getting lost in thought.

All was going well until Winston's ears perked up out of nowhere. He became unusually frightened, looking out the glass patio door as if there was some type of invisible armageddon taking place.

The usual prescription is much cooing and face-rubs, but this time warning bells were clanging in my ears. My mind jumped to conclusions, immediately surmising that his reaction must be related to the fires which had been devastating Los Angeles.

Not that I needed much convincing - having seen a transport chopper rumble by earlier that day, I was already in a semi-condition of nervousness.

My anxiety spiked, it felt like I was pushing my heart back down my throat as I began making the rounds and calling everyone I cared about who were even remotely close to the danger zone.

Thankfully, they were all okay. In hindsight, my state of agitation had been influenced by that mechanism which is so adept at blowing things out of proportion:

The news.

Then a subsequent sense of déjà vu, I had been through these motions before with that worldwide calamity that happened not too long ago:

The pandemic.

I recall raising the alarm a good week before my entire city shut down. How I felt like a lunatic, the only one wearing a facemask while I taught my students for what would be the last time we met in person for at least an entire year. How I forced persuaded my brother to cover his face at work as well, sharing that his coworkers thought that I was overreacting.

Regarding both scenarios, I partly acted this way because I've learned since long that following the crowd will sometimes lead you off a cliff. Which was of little comfort when I unsuccessfully quelched my worry-ridden tone while calling loved ones about the fires, harking back to the embarrassment I felt as I prematurely howled about the virus from China.

But mostly I was listening to the wise words of Nassim Taleb, whose books have taught me more about life than actual living. His unfathomable knowledge of risk is what makes him the master of knowing what to do during times of uncertainty.

For both instances I complied with one of his central rules regarding life. Not that it's easy to observe, since you will feel like an utter fool should you choose to follow it:

The best time to panic is early.

Yet it's really a matter of asking the right question, would you rather protect your ego or survive?

Cheers.