I can’t get my eyes to focus. They long to stare off, out there into the distance. I have too much to sit and think about. I always do. If we could track the exact number of thoughts every person had in a day, I feel certain I would be up there near the top. Oh, I am so eager to achieve. They once thought we might have up to 70,000 thoughts a day, nearly 50 every minute. Now others say it’s more like 6,000. But how could we possibly ever know? And surely, with a brain that doesn’t quit like mine, I can’t be fighting my way through the same amount of processing as those whose thoughts come and go with ease. Melted butter oozing over fresh toast. There she goes - comparison claiming yet another theft.
I try to imagine them all. Thousands of my thoughts like little marbles rattling around in a jar. Every time there are too many of them to fit, I can’t get the lid on. My thoughts don’t like to leave any spare space; they fill every gap and plug every pause. Shapeshifting like water as it surges with ferocity from the walls of a burst dam.
I am a visual thinker. All my thoughts, however abstract, can be compared or mirrored to tangible things in the world around me. Thoughts are not just marbles or fast-flowing water. They are waves, leaves, and Post-it notes. Grains of sand and matchsticks. They unravel like balls of string, knotted and frayed.
Most times, I find it hard to observe my thoughts as they pass by. There is no space to do so when they’re crammed tightly in a jar! I cannot gain perspective. They swarm and overwhelm me. The next thought lined up, ready to be fired like bullets in a loaded chamber.
Then on some days, the volume is turned down a little and the thoughts are no longer so loud.
A stillness. I resist the need for constant music, podcasts or TV to drown out the buzzing. My leg stops twitching. My hands don’t feel the urge to be occupied, endlessly scrolling through videos and reels as if the antidote lurks within reach.
Thoughts, instead, become fleeting. Grounded in the present. Composed of what’s around me and not the constant worrying of future uncertainties or things I can’t control.
I can’t control the slow changing of the seasons. Goodbye, 8 pm sunsets; see you in April 2026. We’re winding down, and I’m ready. Don’t ask or remind me three months from now, but maybe we need time to miss things in order to appreciate them. The feeling of warmth on my face from long, drawn-out summer days. Earth scorched, and the sun dancing high up in the sky.
It is a new beginning. It’s a placebo, but isn’t it always? If it works, what’s the problem?
My thoughts stay stuck in the future. I can’t help myself from daydreaming. But it all looks brighter than usual. Flickers of light and optimism for all the things that are next. More writing, turning 30, and the sandwich I bought for lunch.
I try not to waste energy needlessly fighting thoughts that deliberately antagonise me. There are only 6,000 (or maybe 70,000) thoughts every day! I must preserve and protect the ones most important. The ones that won’t hold me back and want me to succeed.
