The Big Lie of Overthinking

I can’t be the only one who’s apparently trapped in a constant battle with the bogeyman called How Do I Fill My Time (Esquire). That little punk slurps all my time away, turning hours into seconds via some sick joke called…the doomscroll.

That’s an adequately dramatic title, I think. Doomscroll. It’s very Dungeons & Dragons, come to think of it.

Raise your hand if you hop on Instagram reels–or any other one of its inbred cousins–and swipe for what feels like five minutes, only to look up at the teeny-tiny clock at the top and realize “Oh boy, it’s been an hour and a half.”

And then just keep scrolling, the dread solidifying in your gut with each swipe.

Am I being dramatic enough for you?

Do you hate it? The scrolling, I mean, not me being dramatic.

I hate the scrolling too.

So here’s the simple way to break the addiction: Do something else.

“It can’t be that easy!” you cry.

I used to think so…

But oh, yes it can.

Fill your time.

I’ve had the same journal since my 8th-grade graduation.

It’s not a particularly large book. I should’ve filled the pages years ago, only my ritual of jotting down the day’s events before I go to bed has become increasingly infrequent as I’ve gotten older.

However, now I’m finally down to the final page.

I spend more time looking back at old journal entries than creating new ones. I think that’s probably quite telling. Two entries ago (which was written in mid-February, if that gives you some more perspective into my sporadic journaling schedule), I was apparently freaking out about life and money and time itself (I’d just finished doing my taxes).

I wrote the following:

I just don’t know how I’m going to make ends meet. I’m bleeding money.

“Wow, Lucy,” I hear you say. “Umm…that’s heavy–do you need a moment alone? Should we…should we even be here for this? Also…what does this have to do with doomscrolling and addictions…?”

Calm down, buckaroo. I have a point and I’m gettin’ to it!

Under that panicked entry, I wrote this:

I think I’ll start by filling my time better. Form some habits this Lent. Do something different each hour, treat it like a game.

Newsflash: Lucy forgot about Lent (no one’s surprised.)

However, Lucy didn’t forget about the time thing (I’ll stop talking in 3rd person now, sorry).

Go ahead. Ask the question. “Why would filling my time better help me feel less depressed?”

Get out of the Valley.

I think too much. That is something that’s been brought to my attention time and time again, especially over the past few weeks. I think too much–and about the wrong things.

I dwell in the wrong places. I set up my tent in the dark valley and pretend like that’s me “being rational.”

But it’s not. Instead of looking to the light, I stare at the problem until my eyes dry up.

Whatever happened to “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous man runs into it and is safe” (Proverbs 18:10, ESV)?

I’m pretty sure it’s actually: “When I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…I’ll stay there a while, looking around like ‘hm, this is quite the pickle. I think I pull up a chair and stare at the wall until I come up with a solution.'” (Psalm 23:JustTrustMeBro.)

(That’s what we call a joke, just so you know.)

All this to say, it‘s clear that I need to spend my so-called “free time” doing something other than dwelling in the Valley. Doing something specific. The ever anonymous “they” always say that when you want to break an addiction, you gotta fill your time with an alternative (Addiction Center and Harvard Health also say this, but that’s not as funny).

So I wrote myself a note at the bottom of the journal page:

There is so much you can do with your day. You’ve put yourself in jail. A box. Like a bad mime. Just give it a try, like the world isn’t ending–like you won’t die tomorrow. “I want to see you. I wanna see, see you rightly, Jesus.”

(That last bit is lyrics from “Jesus, You’re Beautiful,” which I think is a Bethel song but I’m not sure).

Then comes the question, though… If you break an addiction by doing something else, what is the something else?

Don’t overthink it.

The biggest lie of overthinking goes like this: “I need to figure out what I’m doing next before I do it, so I can do it better and more efficiently.”

I think this lie often, as I scroll and scroll and scroll. And I keep scrolling as I try to think of what to do and how to do it and where to do it and I’m just dragged deeper into the doomscroll depths.

So here’s the truth: you don’t need a plan. You don’t need a list or a chart or a “life hack” to tell you how to fill your time. It’s not always about being efficient. Sometimes it’s just about being.

Say it’s a 5pm on a Tuesday and you’re sitting on your couch, exercising a single thumb as you flick through meaningless videos you don’t even care about. You don’t need a plan. There are no wrong choices, except to keep sitting there.

Sometimes I need to remind myself that I can just get up and do whatever. And if you’re doubtful, I get it–I’m little-miss to-do-list. I have trouble acting without a structure. But when the “structure” is just getting in the way, and actually enabling you to keep spiraling, then it’s not much of a structure, is it?

The fact is, if you just look around, there’s plenty to do. You don’t need a plan, you just need to put the phone down.

The pile of dishes in the sink? Easy pickins.

What’s that? The sun is still up? Go stand on the porch for fifteen minutes. No biggie.

Go find that book you’ve been meaning to read for six months and finally crack the spine.

Pray for someone. Intercede. Talk to God about literally anything. Floss your teeth. Read your word. Stare at the wall. If you want to watch something, do it intentionally; don’t turn off your brain, but engage it by focusing on one story–one movie, one TV show–and actually think about what you’re seeing. (That one stings me.)

It’s not too late, and the possibilities are practically endless.

And at the very end of my journal entry, I signed my name. That wasn’t abnormal–I always do that. But before my name, I put “Love you,” which I don’t remember doing (and don’t usually do), but I thought it was sweet.

---

---