The curse of wanting to articulate everything

There’s this state I fall into sometimes where I have so much to say that I don’t say anything at all. It happens without warning, usually when I’m in the middle of building something or writing something or trying to articulate some idea that felt urgent five minutes ago. The machinery just stops… the words all dry up. And what’s left is this strange quiet where the only thing I can do is notice what’s left in the silence.

I don’t mean this in some precious, mindful way. I mean I literally cannot access language for a while. It’s as if my brain goes offline and all that remains is sensation. The wind on my face when I step outside, the calming sound palm fronds make when they brush against each other (that dry rustling that somehow sounds both alive and ancient), the cute? clicks my dog’s paws make crossing the tile floor. These things suddenly have weight and texture and presence, and I’m just standing there experiencing them without any commentary running in my head about what they mean or why they matter. They just… feel… alive?

I make my living building frameworks and articulating patterns and turning nebulous experiences into clear language that helps people see their own lives differently. That’s my mode right now, that’s what I’m good at. But increasingly my nervous system just shuts all of that down and forces me into this wordless state where none of my usual tools apply. I’m not choosing it. It’s like my body just takes over and says no more thinking, just notice things for a while.

And then, because I’m a writer and this is how my brain works, the thought arrives: this would make a good essay…

*Palm to forehead*

“Ugh! Just stop!! Just feel the thing!”