The Noise in My Head

I've always known I overthink.

Give me a conversation from three days ago and I'll happily analyse whether I should have said something differently. Give me a decision to make and I'll weigh up every possible outcome before I've even made a start. That's nothing new, and it's something I've learned to recognise in myself.

But recently I've realised there's something else going on.

It's separate from overthinking, although the two definitely feed each other.

Over the last few months I've found myself reflecting on life more than usual. Partly because I'm trying to build Naked alongside my day job, but mostly because I've reached a point where I'm asking myself bigger questions. What actually makes me happy? What does success really mean to me? Where do I want to live? Am I building the life I genuinely want, or just chasing the next milestone because that's what I've always done?

As I've spent more time asking those questions, I've become aware of something that's probably been true for years.

My mind is almost never quiet.

Most of the time it isn't filled with worry or panic. It's filled with life. Work. Naked. Ideas I don't want to forget. Things I want to improve. The future. Money. Decisions. Goals. The next step.

None of those thoughts are bad on their own. In fact, most of them come from a good place. I care about my work. I care about building something meaningful. I care about creating a future that gives me more freedom and more purpose.

The problem isn't what I'm thinking about.

It's that I'm almost always thinking about something.

As soon as one thought fades, another quietly replaces it. There always seems to be another problem to solve, another idea to explore or another question to answer. My brain rarely seems content to simply leave a gap.

Once I started paying attention to it, I realised how often it was happening.

I'd make a coffee, but I'd already be thinking about the afternoon ahead.

I'd sit down in the evening to relax, only to realise I hadn't really been paying attention because my mind had wandered somewhere else entirely.

Sometimes I'd catch myself reaching for my phone to research something, make a note or write down an idea because I was worried I'd lose it. Other times I'd be trying to do three things at once, convincing myself I was being productive when, in reality, I wasn't giving any of them my full attention.

I don't think I ever doubted that living like this came with a cost.

What I hadn't really acknowledged was how much of a toll it was taking.

I've clenched my jaw for years. I grind my teeth at night. My shoulders are often tight by the end of the day, and there's a particular kind of tiredness that I've struggled to explain. Not the kind where I want to go to bed, but the feeling of having mentally run a marathon without ever leaving my desk.

For a long time I just accepted those things as part of who I was.

Now I'm starting to wonder whether they're all connected.

Maybe they're all signs of a mind that spends very little time at rest.

The more I've reflected on it, the more I think I understand why.

If I'm honest with myself, I don't feel like I've achieved everything I want to achieve yet. I still want to build something meaningful. I want the freedom to choose how I spend my time. I want to create a life that feels fulfilling. I want to look back one day and know that I built something I'm genuinely proud of.

I don't think those ambitions are unhealthy.

In many ways, they're what get me out of bed in the morning.

But somewhere along the way, I think I've also developed this underlying belief that if I'm not moving forwards, I'm somehow falling behind.

That mindset is incredibly motivating.

It's also incredibly tiring.

Because if you're always focused on what's next, your mind never really gets permission to stop. There's always another idea worth exploring, another improvement worth making or another version of the future that feels just out of reach.

I don't know whether that's ambition, anxiety or simply part of my personality.

Maybe it's a mixture of all three.

One of the concepts we have in Naked is called Just One Thing, and I've found myself coming back to it a lot recently.

The idea is simple. Whatever you're doing, just do that.

Drink the coffee.

Go for a walk.

Cook dinner.

The point isn't that those things are special. It's that they deserve your attention while you're doing them.

What struck me wasn't how clever the idea was.

It was how difficult I found it.

Not because I didn't understand it, but because I'd become so used to living in the future that I'd stopped noticing how often my attention had drifted away from the present. Sometimes that meant reaching for my phone to research something. Sometimes it meant trying to multitask. Sometimes it simply meant disappearing into my own thoughts.

It made me realise how rarely I allow myself to just be where I already am.

I'm not writing this because I've found the answer.

I haven't.

In fact, I don't think I'd want to stop dreaming, planning or building things. Those parts of me have shaped my career, inspired me to create Naked and continue to give me purpose.

What I'm questioning isn't my ambition.

It's whether I've unintentionally trained my mind to believe that the present moment is never quite enough because it should always be preparing for the next one.

I'd hate to spend years building the life I've always wanted, only to look back and realise I spent the entire journey mentally living somewhere else.

So lately, I'm trying something different.

Not thinking less.

Not becoming less ambitious.

Just catching myself every now and then, putting the phone down, letting the next idea wait a few minutes, and giving my full attention to whatever I'm already doing.

It sounds almost ridiculously simple.

But I'm beginning to think that learning to be present isn't about doing more.

It's about allowing yourself, every once in a while, to believe that where you are right now is enough.