death by introspection

the dangers of thinking too much and what to do instead

Galileo contemplating the universe (K. Mitch Hodge)

I almost never wrote this essay.

I had connected a few dots orbiting around the idea that too much introspection can be harmful, but when I tried to put words to the page, I was paralyzed like a mouse that spotted a boa constrictor. Each keystroke was preceded by a moment of hesitation and met with a wince of pain. Ideas that once made good sense now writhed with complexity and confusion and nuance. 

I had done it: I had overthought my essay on overthinking.

#1: introspection as reality distortion

There have been times in my life when I’ve climbed into my head and shut the door. 

It’s not fun. Slipping into bouts of overthinking is less like slipping into a warm bath and more like pouring scalding kettle water on my head.

Life becomes muddied like a puddle after a child splashes through it with their oversized rubber boots on a rainy Spring day. Simple things become senselessly complex. Muddled.

Things feel a little less real. The world becomes out of focus like when you try on your Dad’s glasses. People’s voices drown out like the adults from Charlie Brown. A sense of isolation and numb indifference permeate like I’m experiencing reality behind a plate of glass. 

Zoomed in on my mind and zoomed out on the world.

#2: thinking through overthinking

My struggle with existing in my own head is only exacerbated by my brilliant and cunning remedy: think more. If you went to your doctor with a worrying cough, she wouldn’t tell you to cough more until you cough your way out of it. Yet, this is my intuitive response to overthinking. 

For starters (read: in my defense), it’s hard to tell when I’m thinking too much. 

I pretend being holed up in my room ruminating is some respectable philosophical exercise. I’m not overthinking, I tell myself, I’m simply figuring out my most important problems by thinking about them a lot. I just need to have the right thought, then everything will make sense. If I think a little more, dig a little deeper, journal a little longer, I’ll break through some invisible membrane and be met with a soothing rush of clarity. 

But all my thinking, all my effort, all my intention, only magnify the grandiosity and complexity of my problems. So I furrow my brow, grit my teeth, and think more. 

Overthinking is like digging a pit. In my head, I’m looking for treasure. In reality, I’m just digging myself into a deeper hole. 

It’s easy to mistake the myopia of introspection for the utopia of clarity. 

I recently stumbled upon an article by Tasha Eurich who researches self-awareness. To her astonishment, Eurich found there was a disconnect between thinking about yourself and knowing yourself. In a study she conducted, more introspective participants tended to be more stressed, depressed, anxious, and self-absorbed. And, these adverse effects increased the more they reflected. 

#3: our intellectualized environment

I’m not one to blame the modern world for all my problems, but I’m going to blame the modern world for all my problems. 

Our cultural landscape has grown increasingly cerebral. Intellectualized. Enamored with the self. We fawn over Ivey League students, hyper-productive CEOs, and chess geniuses. Somehow we’re told you learn more from reading a book than hiking through nature and taking a college course dwarfs the education you’d get from backpacking through a foreign country. 

We’re so caught up in our heads we forget about the wisdom of the world.

In an environment obsessed with going inwards and thinking, there’s something to be said for turning outwards and being. Instead of planning to live, just living. Instead of optimizing, just satisficing. Instead of perfecting a day, just inhabiting it.

The inner self can grow tangled and complex, while the outside world can be so radiant and simple and pure. 

#4: finding clarity

Like a lot of people, I’m terrorized by the same few questions humans across cultures and centuries have asked: Who am I? Why am I here? How can I find meaning?

While I’m sure answers may reside in seeking a life purpose or exploring consciousness, perhaps answers also reside in laying on a grassy slope on a careless summer afternoon and watching the clouds move in slow motion. Or laughing so hard with your friends your abs hurt. Or eating your favourite dessert in your favourite cafe. Or listening to your theme song on repeat, the rush of melody and rhythm enrapturing your soul. Or hugging your mom.

I’ve found clarity emerges when I can escape the conceptual mind and just experience the world. Getting out of my head and opening my eyes to the wonder unfolding around me is precisely like breathing in the fresh night air in bed after having my head under the covers for too long. 

Maybe I can redirect some energy from my head to my heart. Maybe I have put on my rose-coloured glasses more often. Maybe I’m here just to bask in the beauty and wonder and enchantedness of the world.

Less calculation. Less rationalization. Less intellectualization. More infatuation. Presence. Ease. 

#5: writing this essay

So, hopelessly lost on this essay, I thought I needed to “think it through”. I didn’t: I needed a kick. 

I powered down my computer and pushed back from my desk. I went for a walk. I stood awestruck by the radiant-pink cherry blossom trees. Admired how the rising sun fractals into a million bands shimmering of light on the lake’s surface. Watched a robin and rabbit play tag in the thick forest undergrowth. I went home. Read a few Mary Oliver poems, grabbed lunch with my Dad, called a friend.

Then I returned to my desk and wrote this. This very essay you hold in your hands.

I guess you’ll be the judge of just how right or just how wrong I am.

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If you enjoyed this, you might like my related piece on why smart people aren’t happier.

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