There’s a kind of tiredness that doesn’t come from doing too much, but from deciding too much. What to check. What to reply to. What to focus on next. What to ignore. Even the smallest moments seem to ask for a choice.
Most of these decisions happen so quickly that you barely notice them. A glance at the phone. A split-second judgment about whether something matters. A constant sorting of inputs into now, later, or never. The day becomes a long sequence of micro-decisions, layered one on top of another.
Over time, this creates a quiet mental weight. Nothing feels heavy on its own, but together it adds up. Your mind rarely rests, because it’s always evaluating, filtering, choosing.
You might notice this most clearly in moments that should feel simple. Sitting down for a few minutes. Waiting. Doing something familiar. Even then, the mind asks, “What should I do with this time?”
But sometimes, that question doesn’t get answered.
You don’t decide what to check. You don’t decide how to use the moment. You don’t turn it into a choice at all. You just let it be what it already is.
At first, this can feel strangely uncomfortable. Decisions give structure. They make time feel purposeful. Without them, there’s a brief sense of floating, as if you’ve stepped outside the usual rhythm.
If you don’t rush to fill that space, something begins to ease.
The mind stops scanning for the “best” option. It releases the need to optimize the moment. Attention settles naturally, without being directed.
You notice how much energy was going into constant evaluation. How often you were treating time like a resource that needed to be managed instead of an experience that could simply be lived.
Without turning every moment into a decision, your body responds with relief. Breathing deepens. Muscles soften. There’s no pressure to choose correctly or efficiently.
Moments begin to feel more complete on their own. Waiting is just waiting. Sitting is just sitting. You’re no longer asking what each moment should become.
This doesn’t mean you stop making decisions altogether. It means you stop forcing them when they aren’t needed. You allow some moments to exist without being shaped.
You may notice how rarely this happens in a day shaped by screens. Technology constantly asks for input, preference, response. Stepping out of that loop, even briefly, reveals how quiet life can be underneath it.
There’s a calm that comes from not having to choose. Not having to evaluate. Not having to direct your attention every second. It’s not empty. It’s spacious.
In that space, thoughts feel less rushed. Emotions feel less sharp. You’re not reacting to every internal or external prompt.
You begin to trust that not every moment needs intervention. That life doesn’t require constant steering to move forward. Some things unfold just fine on their own.
This trust lightens the day. You move through it with less friction. Less mental commentary. Less effort spent managing what doesn’t actually need managing.
Over time, you recognize this relief when it appears. You notice when you’re about to turn a simple moment into another decision, and you pause.
You let the moment stay undecided.
And in doing so, you discover that calm doesn’t always come from choosing well. Sometimes, it comes from realizing that you don’t need to choose at all.
Anca
