Rule number one is, don't sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is, it's all small stuff.
The real wisdom here isn't mere permission to relax—it's a corrective to our brain's broken priority system. We treat the minor irritations of daily life (a delayed email, a burnt breakfast) with the same emotional weight as genuine tragedy, which means we're essentially practicing catastrophe on trivial things. What Eliot captures is that our suffering isn't proportional to actual stakes; it's proportional to how seriously we take them. Watch yourself stuck in traffic for twenty minutes, fuming as if your reputation hangs in the balance, and you'll recognize how often we confuse discomfort with disaster—a habit that drains us long before anything truly difficult arrives.