I am a champion over-thinker of things, a black belt worrier. I tend to look up, down, sideways and backwards at a situation many more times than could ever be necessary. I can make a complicated algorthym out of a simple equation and imagine sinister Byzantine motivations were none exist. Perhaps it's the fiction writer in me, the fabulist, the wild imagination but often I just can't turn it off.
Sometimes it's more than a good book or some bad television can fix. Tennis can work: watch the ball, watch the ball. Dancing can work: getting lost in good music and the arms of an adept partner is more soothing for me than meditation could ever be. Even straight up working out can do the trick although being alone in the gym can be dangerous and often as not I get lulled into pontification by the thwack-thwack of my jumprope. I recently discovered the Nike Training Club app and this works better: no room to think when you're trying to figure out how the hell to do a spinning-frog-lump-lunge and listening to the voice of the robot trainer lady over the aggressive pop music that I can't stand in real life but love when I'm exercising.
Where do you go when you need to get away from yourself?
I go for a long walk, preferably in the mountains. Something about the rhythm–and the progress–is so soothing.
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