Something remarkable happened to me the other day. It won’t sound impressive to you, but I found it profoundly telling about my current mental capacity compared to where I was a few months ago.
I got a song stuck in my head. I know it sounds so basic, but I do not remember the last time something as pedestrian as this happened to me. My mind is used to running about 100 mph with so many pointless things: the self-narration, the criticisms, the to-do list, the judging, the what-ifs, the wondering what was meant by something someone said. It’s all just noise. None of it matters. Not really.
But this song, looping gently in the background of my mind, felt like a quiet victory. It was a signal that something in me had softened, slowed. That there was space again.
When There’s Room for the Song, There’s Room for You
I have decided that this is a good sign. A song getting stuck is a sign that the brain fog is lifting, that my central nervous system is no longer operating in fight or flight. That there is capacity again—for joy, for creativity, for being. It was light, it was colourful, and it felt like a gentle nudge back to myself.
It reminded me how easily we miss these little signs about ourselves when we are living in highly stressful environments. We overlook the signals that we are depleted until something small shifts and reminds us what we’ve been missing.
The Mental Load That We Don’t Even Notice
To be brutally honest with you, no one thinks about you as much as you think they do. No one is analysing your every move, your every word. And yet we attach meaning and story to nearly everything. We file every little comment, every experience, every awkward moment into some corner of our psyche, and it returns when we least need it.
Turns out, one of the things that makes us all equal is this: the overthinking, the ruminating, the self-doubt. The sheer amount of time we waste in these stagnant mental states is staggering.
The Cost of Being Elsewhere
I attended a workshop at Yoga Barn in Ubud, led by a Buddhist teacher named Cirak. He’s written many books on conscious living, and while I hadn’t done any research beforehand (I find going in blank allows for a more genuine experience), his words hit hard.
He spoke about the time we spend lost in thought. Non-presence. He mentioned that on average, humans spend up to 47% of their waking hours not present with what they’re doing. Almost half our life.
Think about that. Think of the things you’d rather be doing than mentally looping over something that happened last week or worrying about something you can’t control next month.
If you're interested in exploring more of Cirak's teachings, you can view his upcoming workshops and events here: https://cirak.com/events/
Return is a Quiet Thing
This idea of returning to ourselves sounds like a grand event. But most of the time, it’s tiny. It’s catching yourself mid-scroll and looking up at the sky instead. It’s pausing before replying to a text, taking a breath, and noticing your body. It’s hearing a song that sticks.
When was the last time you experienced something so simple and unremarkable, but it filled you with quiet joy? Something so basic it felt profound?
We Are Not Broken, We Are Distracted
So much of what makes us feel disconnected from ourselves is not about who we are—it’s about what we’re paying attention to. When we soften our grip on over-analysis, when we begin to release the need to assign meaning to every interaction, something spacious opens up.
A return doesn’t need to be loud. Sometimes it’s just a melody that loops without effort. Sometimes it’s realising you are no longer carrying the weight of constant self-surveillance.
A Gentle Homecoming
This isn’t about reinventing ourselves. It’s about rediscovering the hum beneath the noise. It’s about acknowledging that we were never really lost—just tangled in thoughts that weren’t ours to hold forever.
So here’s to the stuck songs, the small pauses, the deep breaths, the workshops we didn’t plan. Here’s to the subtle signs that we are coming back to ourselves.
And here’s to not missing them next time.
