When My Mind’s a Circus

Some mornings, I wake up and my brain is already in overdrive, as if someone flipped a switch while I was sleeping. There’s no gentle start to the day — just a crowded conference of thoughts, all talking at once, leaving me no room to think about anything else. From the moment I open my eyes, they cling to me like they have nowhere else to be, making everything feel like I’m walking through mental quicksand. It’s that kind of overwhelming where I try to focus, but I’m useless. My mind is racing, but when I sit down to actually tackle one of these urgent thoughts? Nothing. Total blank. It’s like the thoughts are all screaming for attention until I finally acknowledge them, and then they decide to play hide and seek.

Now, over time, I’ve found a few tricks that work for me when I’m in this state. Not life hacks or coping mechanisms — because that makes it sound like I’ve got this whole thing figured out (I definitely don’t). But they’re my go-to moves when my brain is too crowded to function. The first is writing. And I don’t mean journaling in some poetic, soul-searching way — I mean writing everything down, just to get it *out* of my head. It’s a bit like dumping out a drawer full of junk. Sure, it’s all still there, but at least it’s not jammed up in my brain. It’s messy and chaotic, but something about seeing all those thoughts on paper gives me the illusion of control. Like, *oh, look at me, sorting through my life one scribble at a time*.

Then, there’s cooking. I’m not a gourmet chef, but when my brain is too noisy, I find myself in the kitchen, chopping and stirring like I’m auditioning for a cooking show. There’s something soothing about it. Cooking feels productive, and let’s be real — there’s food at the end, so it’s basically a win no matter what. It’s the perfect distraction because, for a little while, I’m not thinking about anything other than what’s in front of me. Plus, it’s hard to dwell on existential questions when you’re trying not to burn dinner.

But when the brain chaos reaches critical mass, I have one last trick up my sleeve: running. Running is the nuclear option. When I’ve reached the point where I can’t think straight and I feel like my thoughts are pinballing around my skull, I put on my sneakers and head outside. Today was one of those days. The only option left was to run it out.

So after dragging myself through the day, I finally got home, laced up my shoes, and headed for the riverfront — a long, straight path that stretches for miles. The rain had started to fall, and the sun was setting, making everything look cinematic, which was an unintentional bonus. At first, I was still mentally carrying all the clutter with me, but then, as I started running, something magical happened: my brain just…stopped. The only thing I could focus on was the rhythm of my feet hitting the ground and the sound of the rain. Everything else, all those overwhelming thoughts, just faded away. It’s like my brain has no choice but to shut up and focus on not tripping over itself.

And that’s the beauty of it. For those precious moments, the world narrows down to just the run. No decisions to make, no problems to solve. Just the pure simplicity of moving forward. By the time I hit my stride, the noise in my head had quieted, and for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.

The funny part is, running doesn’t necessarily solve anything. I’m not out there finding answers to life’s big questions. Sometimes I finish the run, and all the stuff that was weighing on me is still there, waiting for me. But it feels lighter somehow, more manageable. There are times when the clarity comes after the run, and I can finally organize the mess in my head. And other times, I don’t get answers, but I at least feel like I’ve earned a break from thinking about everything at once.

Today, the run did the trick. By the time I got home, soaked from the rain and tired from the miles, my mind had finally quieted down. No grand revelations, no sudden solutions. Just a little more peace than I had before. And, honestly, that’s good enough for me. Sometimes all you need is a little space to breathe, and the rest will fall into place eventually — probably while I’m cooking.