It’s been raining in Los Angeles for days. Curled up on the couch, I picked up Joseph Nguyen’s Don’t Believe Everything You Think again. The first read felt warm. Reading it again in the rain hit differently. One line stopped me three times: “Your suffering doesn’t come from the world. It comes from your thoughts about the world.”
Last week I made plans with a friend. Right before I left, she canceled. “No problem,” I said. But inside, the engine started: Did I say something wrong? Does she not actually want to be friends anymore? I lay in bed that night, my mind spinning. The next day she sent a photo of a thermometer. Fever. Sorry. Will reschedule.
So the thing that wrecked my night wasn’t her canceling. It was the story I wrote. Boss doesn’t text back? You’re about to be fired. Partner sounds a little flat? The relationship is over. We live in reality, but we’re terrorized by the horror movies playing inside our heads.
There’s a very diligent screenwriter living in your head.
Nguyen tells the story of someone who wakes up each morning and immediately checks her phone for bad news. Before every meeting, she runs the scene of getting criticized. She’s exhausted – not physically, but from the nonstop production in her mind. Then something very small happens. So small she’d later laugh at it. But in that moment, she sees it clearly: the “facts” she’s been suffering under were never facts. Just what she thought were facts. Her friends weren’t angry. Her coworkers weren’t plotting. The world wasn’t against her. She just believed the voice in her head a little too much.
The author doesn’t tell her to “think positive.” He just says this: your thoughts aren’t you. you. They come. They go. You don’t have to chase every single one.
The best thing about this book is how little effort it asks for.
So many self-help books feel like the gym. Every page yells, “HARDER. AGAIN.” This one isn’t that. It’s like drinking hot tea on a rainy afternoon. You swallow slowly, and your chest warms up. Nguyen has a great image: anxiety is like overwatering a plant. The harder you try to control when it blooms, the faster the root rots. Step back. Trust it to grow on its own. It usually does, and better than you expected.
I’ve learned one thing from this book. Stuck in traffic in the rain, I used to fall apart – like the whole world had it out for me. Now I think: rain falls on its own schedule. Traffic moves at its own speed. Why am I in a hurry? This isn’t giving up. It’s finally understanding – the more you force “how this should go,” the more it hurts. Let things reveal themselves. The answer often shows up when you stop grabbing for it.
So what about goals and thinking? Don’t we need those?
Someone will ask: if I follow this, do I just stop thinking and become a dummy?
The author’s answer is clean. The question isn’t “what’s your goal.” It’s “where’s the drive coming from.” You want a promotion – because you actually love the work, or because you’re afraid people will think you’re not enough? You want to lose weight – to feel healthier, or to escape the way others look at your body? If the drive is curiosity, passion, wanting to help someone – then the journey itself is the reward. Failing doesn’t hit as hard. But if the drive is fear, comparison, that hollow “I’m not good enough” – then even reaching the goal won’t make you happy.
I’ve read this passage more than a few times now. It made me look at all the things I chase every day. Which ones actually matter. And which ones are just “what I think I’m supposed to want.”
So if you’re someone who overthinks, who gets stuck in your own head, this book might be for you. You don’t need to sit up straight. Just curl up under a blanket on a rainy day and flip through a few pages. It’ll say to you, quietly: don’t work so hard. Most of those voices in your head? They’re not real. You can put them down. And then you’ll notice – whether the rain stops or keeps falling – there’s a quiet place inside you. And nothing really gets to disturb it.
