Last month, I had to make a work-related decision. It wasn’t a huge deal, to be honest—there were two options, and both were reasonable.
I spent a week thinking about it.
I thought about it while drinking my morning coffee, while walking down the street, and while lying in bed at night. I weighed the pros, weighed the cons, and then weighed the pros again. I talked it over with my spouse, with a friend, and went over it with myself again and again.
Finally, I made a decision. Then I realized that the decision I’d made was the same one that had come to mind on the very first day.
I hadn’t gained any new information over the course of that week. I hadn’t looked at the situation from a new angle. I’d just thought about the same thing a hundred times and called it “thinking.”
And I know I’m not the only one who does this. We all do it. That’s what we’ll be discussing in this post.
First, let’s define this term, because we’ve been hearing it a lot in recent years: overthinking.
In Turkish, it’s “aşırı düşünme.” Sometimes it’s called “mental rumination” or, as it’s known in psychological literature, “rumination.” The word “rumination” actually comes from the way animals chew their cud—that is, bringing what’s been swallowed back into the mouth to chew it again.
The definition is roughly this: repeatedly turning over a topic, an event, or a possibility in your mind without reaching a solution.
Note that I’m not saying “thinking a lot.” It’s not about the amount. You can think about a topic at length, and that can be quite productive. Overthinking isn’t about thinking for a long time; it’s about going in circles.
And distinguishing between the two is harder than we think.
Because I believe there’s a certain direction to real thinking.
It starts somewhere, adds something, and arrives somewhere. In the end, it either turns into a decision, a new question, or the thought, “I’ll set this aside for now.” In short, it moves forward.
Overthinking, on the other hand, just keeps going around in circles with the same three sentences. No new information comes in, no new perspectives open up, and the outcome doesn’t change. You get tired, but you haven’t moved a single centimeter forward.
From the outside, the two look exactly the same. You’re sitting there, silent, your mind occupied. But one is making progress, while the other just goes around in circles—like a snake eating its own tail.
Now I’m getting to the sneakiest part of it.
I think the reason overthinking is so hard to let go of is this: it doesn’t look like laziness—it looks like diligence.
It’s easy to spot laziness. We see it in ourselves, and those around us point it out. But overthinking comes disguised as responsibility.
“I’m weighing everything carefully.”
“I don’t want to act hastily.”
“I’m calculating the risks.”
All these phrases sound reasonable. They even sound like virtues. That’s why no one tells us, “Enough already.” And we don’t tell ourselves either.
Sometimes we even take pride in it. The phrase “I’m a deep thinker” is often said as a compliment. Yet it might actually be a confession.
So, are we really making better decisions?
Psychologist Susan Nolen-Hoeksema has studied rumination for many years. What she found was the exact opposite of what you’d expect: thinking about a problem over and over again doesn’t increase your problem-solving ability—it decreases it. (1*)
In other words, overthinking doesn’t lead to more accurate decisions. It leads to decisions that are made later—and often worse.
This finding undermines the very justification for overthinking. Because we believe we’re thinking precisely “to make a better decision.” It turns out that thinking doesn’t actually do us that favor.
We spend a whole week trying to find a better solution, but we end up right back where we started on the first day.
This raises the question: if it’s not helpful, why can’t we stop overthinking?
I think there are two mechanisms at play here, and both are peculiarities unique to humans.
The first is this: trying not to think about something makes you think about it even more. Psychologist Daniel Wegner conducted a famous experiment where participants were told, “Don’t think about a white bear,” and everyone ended up thinking about a white bear constantly. (2*)
In other words, the very phrase “I’m going to stop thinking about this now” brings the thought back. It’s like ringing the doorbell while trying to close the door.
The second has to do with incompleteness. Psychologist Bluma Zeigarnik demonstrated that unfinished tasks take up much more space in the mind than completed ones. (3*) Waiters remember orders that haven’t been paid for yet, while tables that have been paid for are quickly erased from memory.
The subject of overthinking is usually something that hasn’t been resolved: a decision left unmade, a conversation left unfinished, an uncertain future, or a sentence left unsaid.
Since the mind cannot close that file, it keeps reopening it. And every time it does, it thinks it will find something.
So what does this take from us?
Time slips away, of course—that much is clear. But I think what’s really slipping away is something else.
Decisions slip away. Most of the things we overthink never get done. After a while, thinking turns into a form of procrastination, but we convince ourselves we’re just preparing.
Sleep is slipping away. For some reason, the mind really loves opening that file at night.
Relationships are slipping away. We read two lines someone wrote in ten different ways and react to an intention that isn’t even there. Then a reaction to that reaction follows, and a real problem arises. In other words, by overthinking, we create a problem that didn’t exist.
And here’s another thing that slips away: the moment we’re living in. Because the mind is either fixing a sentence from the past or rehearsing a disaster in the future. Neither of those is here.
I need to say something about myself here, because this is the part of the text that resonates with me the most.
Analytical thinking is my profession. What we call software architecture is, in a sense, the task of “thinking through every possibility in advance, calculating every scenario, and figuring out what could go wrong.”
And I’m good at it. This muscle is my bread and butter.
But that same skill paralyzes me when I use it outside of work.
Even when I’m reading a message from a friend, I’m weighing every possibility. Even when I’m making a decision, I’m running through every scenario. Yet in most areas of life, there aren’t that many possibilities, and most of the ones that do exist are beyond my control.
So the very thing that makes me good is also the thing that holds me captive. It’s just working in the wrong place.
Realizing this wasn’t exactly a relief, to be honest. Because I can’t just say, “I’ll get rid of this trait”—I live with it. But at least I’ve started to see when it kicks in.
So what’s the solution?
Telling myself to “stop thinking” doesn’t work—it’s like the white bear problem. The more I try to suppress it, the bigger it gets.
What worked for me was asking myself a question: Is this thought taking me from where I am to a better place?
If it does, keep going. If it doesn’t, then it’s no longer thinking—it’s something else.
One more question: Do I have any new information?
If not, it means I’m cooking the same meal with the same ingredients over and over. And that meal turns out the same every time.
I also realized this: you can’t break the cycle by thinking about it. Because thinking is the fuel for the cycle. The more you think about it, the more you feed it.
The only way to break it is through action. Even if it’s tiny. Sending a message, making a call, making a decision, writing a single line.
Action breaks the cycle because it generates new information. And the mind only truly begins to think when new information arrives.
I’d like to share these practices—which I developed for myself—with you:
When you’re thinking about a topic, stop and ask: Has anything new been added to this in the last half hour, or am I just going around in circles?
When you catch yourself saying, “I’m thinking so much because I’m being responsible,” stop for a moment. Is that really true, or are you just avoiding making a decision?
Set a time limit for making a decision. When the time is up, make your decision based on the information you have. Better information isn’t going to come along anyway.
When you realize you’ve gotten stuck in a loop, take the smallest possible action. Don’t try to stop thinking—just do something.
If you find yourself reading someone’s message in ten different ways, stop and just ask. A question provides an answer faster than ten scenarios.
Write down the topic that’s been swirling in your head at night. Sometimes, closing an unfinished file is as simple as saving it somewhere.
Going back to that story about the decision I made that week, what bothered me the most wasn’t that I’d made the wrong decision. After all, one way or another, I’d arrived at the right decision.
What bothered me was that I’d wasted that week—all while convincing myself I was actually working.
Now I realize this: sometimes thinking is the most respectable form of inaction.
And no one holds us accountable for it. Because from the outside, all they see is a man who’s thinking.
I’d like to ask you too: Is there a topic going round and round in your head right now? Have you learned anything new about it in the past week, or have you just been going over the same thing again?
See you in the next post. Until then, stay well.
(1*) Susan Nolen-Hoeksema, “Responses to Depression and Their Effects on the Duration of Depressive Episodes” (1991)
(2*) Daniel M. Wegner, White Bears and Other Unwanted Thoughts (1989)
(3*) Bluma Zeigarnik, “On the Retention of Completed and Uncompleted Actions” (1927)
