Sometimes you're outside, and none of the outside gets in.
You're walking down a night road.
Frogs are croaking.
A convenience store glows up ahead.
There's a breeze.
Nobody's around.
Your feet are moving just fine.
But your attention isn't out there.
Inside your head, a different world is running.
Work.
Love.
Marriage.
The future.
Money.
Freedom.
Dreams.
Articles you want to write.
Old conversations.
Your own decisions.
What you should have done back then.
What that whole thing even was.
How you can use it next time.
The outside world is simple, but your inside world is unusually dense.
In that state, even when you try to look outside, the outside turns into background.
The frogs, the convenience store light, the night breeze all become background noise.
Because the meeting going on inside your head is louder.
The Outside and the Inside Are Too Different
The outside world is basically simple.
Frogs are croaking.
There's a road.
There are streetlights.
The convenience store is lit up.
The wind is blowing.
Your feet are on the ground.
The Coke Zero is cold.
That's all.
But the inside world is ridiculously complicated.
One event links to another.
A dream turns into a view of life.
A manga turns into a view of marriage.
A romance turns into a talk about running life together as a team.
Resting turns into a theory about recovering MP (the "magic points" that refill your energy in video games).
A walk turns into a theory about the outer and inner worlds.
People like this turn things into meaning right away, before they can take in the outside information as it is.
A frog is croaking.
It would be nice if it ended there, but instead you get:
"Why do frog calls help you recover MP?"
"Maybe a sound that isn't human language stops your thoughts?"
"Could I write something about night walks and how modern people rest?"
and so on.
This is a strength, too.
But when you're trying to rest, it gets in the way.
Why the Outside Information Doesn't Get In
The outside information doesn't get in, and it isn't because the outside is weak.
It's because the inside is too strong.
There are unfinished problems running inside.
There's a feeling that something is off, and it doesn't have a name yet.
There are questions you want answered.
You want to double-check your own decision.
You want to go back and settle things from the past.
You want to see future risks ahead of time.
So your attention gets pulled inward.
You're outside, but you're not looking at it.
You're hearing sounds, but you're not really hearing them.
You're walking, but in your head you're in a meeting.
It's less that you don't care about the outside world, and more that your inner processing is overloaded.
"Just Don't Think" Is Hard
At times like this, you tell yourself,
"Let's try not to think."
and it usually doesn't work.
Not thinking is harder.
The more you try not to think, the more you start wondering:
"Why can't I stop thinking?"
"How can I stop thinking?"
"Why can't I rest?"
In other words, the effort to not think becomes more thinking.
So your goal doesn't have to be "not thinking."
The goal can be
keeping your thoughts in the shallows.
Don't dig deep.
Don't turn it into an article.
Don't reach a conclusion.
Don't organize it into a structure.
If a label floats up, let it float past.
That's about the right level.
To Get Back Outside, Pick Up Sensations, Not Interpretations
The trick to getting back to the outside world is to pick up sensations instead of interpretations.
Not
"What does this night walk mean?"
but
"My feet are on the ground."
Not
"Why are frog calls so soothing?"
but
"It's going ribbit, ribbit."
Not
"Isn't the convenience store light a symbol of modern society?"
but
"The convenience store is bright."
That's about the right level.
When you're coming back outside, it's better not to make meaning.
Once you make meaning, the inside world switches back on.
Coming Back With a Play-by-Play of the Outside
The easiest way is a play-by-play of the outside, like a sports commentator.
While you walk, put what you see, hear, and feel into words, just as they are.
For example:
"Frogs are croaking."
"The road is dark."
"The convenience store is bright."
"The Coke Zero is cold."
"There's a breeze."
"My feet are on the ground."
"Nobody's around."
"I hear a car."
"The sky is black."
"My phone screen is bright."
"Futon when I get home."
That's all.
The point is not to explain anything.
Don't go as far as:
"Why are the frogs croaking?"
"Why is nobody around?"
"Why am I taking a night walk at all?"
Stop at the play-by-play.
The outside play-by-play is there to pull your attention from the meeting in your head back to outside sensations, so there's no point in thinking about it deeply.
Hearing a Ribbit as Just a Ribbit
Frog calls are really good.
The reason is that they aren't human language.
Human words carry meaning.
Social media, videos, manga, conversations all have meaning.
When you look at something with meaning, your head starts working.
But a frog's call is basically just a ribbit.
When you hear a ribbit, you don't need to wonder,
"What does this mean?"
Of course, you could think about it if you wanted to.
But it's fine to just let it be a ribbit.
A sound you don't have to turn into meaning quiets the inner world a little.
To get back outside, you need this kind of meaningless information.
A Night Walk Can Be a Tool for Getting Back Outside
A night walk is good because there's just a modest amount of information outside.
The daytime city has a lot of information.
There are people.
There's plenty of traffic.
The shops are bright.
There are lots of ads.
There are lots of decisions to make.
But at night, there's less information.
The road.
The wind.
The convenience store.
The streetlights.
The frogs.
An occasional person.
An occasional car.
About that much.
When your inner world has gotten too dense, this is just about right.
Because there's so little information, it's easier to come back outside.
That said, safety comes first on a night walk.
Walk on lit roads.
Don't go too far.
Don't turn your earphones up too loud.
Don't stare at your phone too much.
If something feels off, go home.
A walk meant for recovery shouldn't add danger.
Look at Your Phone and You're Back Inside Right Away
On a night walk, looking at your phone brings you back inside right away.
You check notifications.
You check social media.
You check your notes.
You talk to an AI.
An article title pops into your head.
You read the reply.
You think again.
And just like that, you've gone from the outside world back to the inside one.
Walking while bouncing ideas off an AI is great.
But use it the wrong way, and the publishing house in your head opens for business right away.
So keep the phone to a minimum on a night walk.
A map.
Messages.
Music.
A quick note.
That's about it.
If you talk to an AI, stop at things like:
"The frogs are croaking right now."
"The outside and inside worlds are too different."
"Not thinking is harder."
Once you go as far as
"Turn this into an article."
"Make an SEO outline."
"Give me some social media post ideas too."
your walk has turned into work.
Going Back Inside Isn't a Bad Thing
What matters here is not rejecting your inner world.
Because your inner world is dense, you can think.
You can write articles.
You can put vague discomfort into words.
You can sort out your own life.
You can see the structure of relationships.
You can improve problems at work.
That's a real strength.
But if you stay inside all the time, you get tired.
The inner world is a handy workshop.
But it isn't a place to sleep.
You need time to come back to the outside world, too.
Frogs.
Wind.
The road.
The soles of your feet.
The convenience store.
Water.
Your futon.
These are the exits out of the inner workshop.
Concrete Ways to Get Back Outside
When you want to come back outside, try the following.
1. Pick up your five senses one at a time
Sound.
Sight.
Body.
Temperature.
Smell.
Pick them up one at a time.
"Frogs."
"Streetlight."
"Soles of my feet."
"Wind."
"The smell of the night."
That's enough.
2. Don't turn it into sentences
Don't turn what you see into full sentences.
If you get as far as
"Walking down the night road, I felt a gap between the outside world and the inside world,"
an article has begun.
Stop at
"Road's dark."
3. Don't judge
"Is this a good walk?"
"How many minutes should I walk?"
"Is this actually helping me recover?"
Don't judge any of that.
Just walk.
4. Make the goal small
The goal is to breathe some outside air.
That's all.
Don't make it an article.
Don't reach a conclusion.
Don't change your life.
Just go outside.
5. Decide where you're going back to
A walk isn't over until you get home; the recovery counts until then.
When you get home, drink some water.
Dim the room.
Read a little manga.
Sink into your futon.
That closes it out.
The Outside World Helps Because It Has Little Meaning
The inner world has a lot of meaning.
Every time you look at something, meaning appears.
It links to the past.
It links to the future.
It becomes an article.
It becomes a label.
That's powerful.
But it's tiring.
The outside world has little meaning.
Frogs croak.
The wind blows.
The road is dark.
The convenience store is bright.
Feet move.
That's all.
This "that's all" is a relief.
Maybe, to recover from meaning, people need to go back to a world with less of it.
Summary: Don't Just Look at the Outside, Narrate It
Bringing your mind back to the outside world is surprisingly hard.
The more you overthink, the more your inner world pulls you in, even when you're looking outside.
So you don't have to jump straight to "let's enjoy the outdoors."
First, narrate the outside.
Frogs are croaking.
The road is dark.
The convenience store is bright.
The Coke Zero is cold.
There's a breeze.
My feet are on the ground.
Nobody's around.
Futon when I get home.
That's enough.
Don't make meaning.
Don't turn it into an article.
Don't reach a conclusion.
Hear a ribbit as just a ribbit.
For people with a dense inner world, the outside world looks thin.
But that thinness is what helps you recover.
Coming back to the outside world doesn't mean finding a deep answer.
It just means going back to the sounds, the light, the wind, and the soles of your feet that are here right now.
That alone turns down the volume of the meeting room inside your head a little.
