You know what's louder than a stadium full of screaming fans?

The answer is your brain.

It doesn’t even need a mic. It has thoughts. That’s enough.

If you’ve ever had a quiet day and still felt exhausted by the evening, it’s not because you ran a marathon or wrestled a bear. It’s because your mind was doing cartwheels the entire time.
Thinking, rethinking, overthinking, and then thinking about why you’re thinking so much.

Basically, a full-time job with zero salary, no promotions, and absolutely no off switch.

And the worst part?
Most of the time, we’re not even thinking about what’s real. We’re stuck rewatching old tapes from the past—you know, that one embarrassing thing you said in 2017 that still haunts you at 2 AM. Or we’re making up dramatic trailers for a future that hasn’t even knocked on the door yet.

Meanwhile, life—the real one—is quietly sitting in the middle, sipping chai, wondering if we’ll ever show up. If my brain were a phone, the most overused app would be “Emotions. And that app? Always running in the background. No permission needed.

Two tabs always open:

Past—where Regret plays DJ and remixes your old mistakes on repeat.
Future—where Anxiety throws random surprise parties with a guest list of ‘what ifs’.
Battery? 0%.
Storage? Full.
Peace of mind? 404 Not Found.
And hey, let me be real—If I ever participated in the Olympics for mental gymnastics, Gold is for India. That’s for sure.

I overthink so much, my thoughts should start paying rent for occupying my head. Some days, I’m stuck replaying old conversations like it’s a true crime podcast. Other days, I’m fast-forwarding to a future that hasn’t even said hi yet.

I mean, if someone gave me a rupee every time I cringed at something I did five years ago, I’d have enough to open a biryani center. Free raita included, obviously.

But for a long time, my brain’s playlist was stuck on two tracks:

“What if I had done that differently?”
“What if everything goes wrong next week?”
On loop.
No shuffle.
No skip button.
Just regrets from yesterday and fear of tomorrow, dancing like they own the place.

And here’s the truth bomb no one asked for:

Both are pretty useless.
The past? You can’t go back and edit it like a Google Doc.
And the future? That’s like preparing for a surprise quiz you don’t even know you’re taking.
Still, my mind didn’t care.

It would chill in a corner of my brain, legs crossed, sipping imaginary tea, judging me for everything—things I said, things I didn’t say, awkward moments I could’ve handled better, and even situations I had zero control over.

And if—just if—one morning I woke up and wasn’t worried about something, my brain would be like:

“Wait, are we forgetting to stress about something?”

Even silence started to feel suspicious.

Because somewhere deep down, I convinced myself that thinking a lot meant I was being serious about life. Like some unpaid philosopher with a brain full of tabs.

But the truth? Thinking too much isn’t deep.
It’s just heavy.
It weighs you down.
It tires your soul.
It makes simple things feel complicated.

What Even Is the Present?

People love throwing this around: “Live in the moment.”

But no one really tells you how.

How do you live in the moment when your brain is living in a museum of regrets or a horror movie called What If?

Living in the present feels like trying to stand still in a storm.

Everything around you—memories, fears, people, deadlines—they keep pushing you back or pulling you forward.
And the present?
It doesn’t shout.
It doesn’t demand attention.
It just… waits.
Quietly.
Patiently.

Like a biscuit beside your chai, slowly softening, hoping you’ll notice it before it breaks.

The Flip: One Morning. One Dog. One Truth.

So here’s what happened.

One sleepy morning, I stepped out and saw a stray dog wagging its tail at me. I had a few Parle-Gs in my hand, so I crouched down and fed him. That’s it. No emotional music, no filters, no plot twists.
Just a moment.

And for once, my brain shut up. I wasn’t thinking about that weird thing I said to someone three weeks ago. I wasn’t worrying about tomorrow’s to-do list or how I’d reply to that pending message. I was just… there.

Feeding a biscuit to a dog who didn’t care about my overthinking habits. And then this one thought floated in:

“This very moment—me standing here with this biscuit—will become a memory tomorrow. So why not actually be in it, instead of just watching it from a distance like some distracted narrator?”

It was the simplest moment of the week. And somehow, I had felt the most alive I had felt in days.

What Now?

Now, I won’t lie—I still overthink.

I still imagine 17 different responses before replying to a “Hey.” And sometimes I still cringe at something I did in Class 6 for absolutely no reason. But now, I notice it. I catch myself when I spiral.
I pause.
I breathe.

I remind myself, “Hey, we’re doing that thing again. Come back.”

And I try to collect more of those quiet moments:

Feeding a dog.
Watching the clouds turn golden before sunset.
Laughing at memes that feel like personal attacks.
Scribbling my thoughts down, even if they sound like nonsense.

Because those tiny moments?
They are the present.
And they matter more than a future that hasn’t arrived or a past that has already left.

So, if you’re like me—a proud gold medalist in overthinking—maybe this is for you too. Maybe it’s your sign to shut that playlist down for a bit.
To sip your chai without planning ten years.
To feed a dog, write a line, laugh at something silly, and just be.
Not forever.
Just for a moment. Because sometimes, one small moment of peace is all it takes to remind you that your brain may be loud — but your life is louder.
And hey—don’t forget the biscuit.

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