I became a grass expert in the fifth grade. There is tall grass, cut grass, dried grass, and tens of other grasses that sprout along the edge of a sidewalk. Grass flattens with every step and rises again when the foot is lifted, yet there will always be a dent left behind. Grass roots are anchored into the soil; I teetered between the concrete and the grass bed. Previously, I was solely planted in the middle of the concrete path, walking with both arms impractically chained with others in a human knot. Fifth grade was when I first started my grass studies. It was also when overthinking took a grip.

The hobby of mind-debilitating loops left me replaying every interaction with teachers, classmates, friends to pick at every stumble, breath, movement. I also became more attentive to the sound of my friends’ laughs, the grass stains on their shoes, and smiles that looked a little too wide.

Overthinking really isn’t over; it’s just thinking. At the most basic level, overthinking is just thinking with a smidge more creativity.

The basis of under-thinking is abandoning any sense of awareness: I am the only one, everyone else is just…there. Overthinking, on the other hand, is taking note and analyzing.

The very first step to approaching any aspect in life is simply experiencing the moment. Concentrate on the little details–details that others might glaze over. Pay attention to their feet position: in what direction are they pointed? Draw the eyes to their hands: are they clasped together or swinging at the sides?

The fun begins as you reflect on the past. As the memory is rewound, the prevalent mindset is to form a conclusion from an apparent hop in the step or a downward tilt in the neck. Stop. Focus on the details that instinct glides over–these specificities are what differentiates assumption from truth. Say, for example, that a friend had proffered, with pearly whites across her face, to stay on the ground and give the remaining swings to her friends. Yet she had stared a little too long as her friends clambered onto the rubber seats and had laughed a little too hard as her friends giggled in flight. Was the plastered smile accompanied with ringing laughter truly representative of her longing eyes? Did she fall a little behind the group walking back from recess? She must think she’s dispensable.

Overthinking falls into two categories: dwelling on the past and looking to the future. To be maximally successful, ensure that both are implicated. 

While the initial conclusion itself is enough to induce a degree of anxiety, a single experience is usually insufficient to cause mass panic. Look to the past and draw from preceding memories to feed into the narrative. Maybe she had sat, teetering, at the edge of the bench the week prior or had been squeezed out of the arm chain when passing under a door.

A minuscule detail has the potential to affect the rest of your life. Conceivably, every small detail will build up and she’ll feel an insecurity in every relationship or panic every time her feet fall even an inch behind her friends’ steps.

Overthinking is not just a one and done. The same scene must be approached over and over again, throughout the day, throughout the week, throughout your life. While lining up for recess, think about how she stopped to tie her shoes and was left to see her friends’ shrinking backsides. When standing idle in the mystery meat lunch line, storm over how you let the door slip out of  your hand despite holding it for everyone else.

There will always be a breaking point in overthinking: a call for action. It’s entirely up to you to decide on your next steps.

Replaying and picking at every interaction to find the “should haves” and implications often leaves me beaten over unrealistic predictions. The loops flood my mind so that I’m unable to enjoy the present without worrying about minuscule details. But these are all better alternatives to being numb. Devoid of overthinking, I’m really just a shell of apathy and indifference.

I was the girl in elementary who giggled alongside my friends on the swings, having taken that swing with no regard to the girl who looked at it with longing eyes. But I also became the girl who gave up a swing when seeing their eyes glance down a fraction of a millisecond too long. Yet never have I received a swing.