When I get high anxiety, I vomit. My mom was so stressed out.

Hear the vulnerable words of Charlie Puth, spoken not as one already triumphant, but as one who has wrestled with the storms of the heart: “When I get high anxiety, I vomit. My mom was so stressed out. Then I found out I was staying in John Mayer's old dorm room, and I had a nice roommate. That completely brought me down. I was completely comfortable at Berklee.” In these words lies a lesson that echoes through time: that even in moments of turmoil, small signs of reassurance can transform fear into calm, and that comfort often arises not from grand events but from gentle providences along the way.

Anxiety is an ancient foe, though its name is modern. The ancients spoke of it as the trembling of the soul, the storm within, the restless unease that robs the mind of peace. Puth speaks of his struggle openly, showing how it gripped his body until he was sick, how it burdened not only himself but also his mother, who bore the weight of his distress. Here is the first truth: that fear is not borne alone. Our struggles ripple outward to those we love, binding them to our unrest.

Yet in his story we see also how swiftly peace can return when the heart finds meaning and connection. Learning that his room once belonged to John Mayer—an artist who had walked the same uncertain halls and found success—was like a whisper from destiny itself: “You belong here too.” Add to this the kindness of a roommate, and suddenly the storm of anxiety gave way to stillness. These signs, small in the eyes of the world, became mighty anchors for a heart tossed by fear. They transformed strangeness into familiarity, and uncertainty into comfort.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher. Surrounded by wars, plagued by illness, and burdened with responsibility, he too knew the crushing weight of anxiety. Yet in his Meditations, he found solace by reminding himself of the shared path of humanity—that countless others had endured the same burdens, and that he walked a road already traveled by those before him. Just as Puth found calm in knowing he slept in a place once occupied by greatness, so Marcus found strength in the lineage of human endurance. To see oneself not alone but part of a greater story is to find courage.

From this tale we learn that comfort does not always come from removing difficulty, but from reframing it. Fear thrives in isolation; it withers when touched by connection and hope. A familiar name, a kind word, or the simple presence of a friend can silence the storm more effectively than the grandest of victories. The human spirit is not nourished by magnitude but by meaning.

The lesson is thus: when struck by anxiety, do not despair. Seek out the threads of connection that remind you you are not alone. Remember that others have walked the path before you, and that companionship, however humble, can turn fear into peace. Do not overlook the power of the small—a kind stranger, a reassuring thought, or even the memory of someone who came before. These are the anchors that keep the heart steady.

Practical is this counsel: in your own struggles, search for symbols of reassurance. Surround yourself with reminders of those who inspire you. Share your burdens with those you trust, for their presence will ease your spirit. And when you find yourself in a place of comfort, extend that same kindness to others, for you may be the anchor that steadies their storm.

Thus Charlie Puth’s words are not merely confession, but teaching: that even in the grip of anxiety, peace is possible; that even when the heart trembles, small signs of destiny and kindness can restore comfort. Let us carry this truth forward, remembering always that storms may come, but with connection, meaning, and hope, they need not destroy us.