From THINK To THING (eBook)

Stop Overthinking and Start Doing

Cristi Cruceanu (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
217 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-103244-6 (ISBN)

Textauszug

Chapter 1 — Two Minutes at a Time

 

Life has a tendency to overwhelm us sometimes with so much all at once that it appears it is not possible to keep up. The work piles high, the worries weigh upon us, and the future hangs as an intimidating, distant mountain. At such moments, it is easy to become mired, bogged down in the size of what must be done or conquered. But what if the answer is not to try and handle everything at the same time? What if the secret is to do just two minutes at a time?

Two minutes may seem insignificant on their own—barely enough to finish a thought or take a deep breath. Yet, those two minutes can be a powerful anchor in the storm. When everything feels chaotic, breaking the day down into manageable pieces makes it easier to keep moving forward. Two minutes to pause, to slow down, to gather yourself. Two minutes to focus on one little task rather than the entire overwhelming list. Two minutes to let go of fear and reassure yourself that it's okay not to know everything right now.

In those fleeting moments, you build resilience. You create space to breathe and reset. You become patient with yourself. And the longer you do it, the more those little moments accumulate—transmuting fear into courage, chaos into focus, and hesitation into momentum.

This process doesn't erase the struggle or speed up the journey. It simply permits you to take what life gives you, moment by moment, step by step. Sometimes, survival and thriving are not a matter of pace or perfection—it is a matter of resilience and kindness toward yourself, two minutes at a time.

 

The Monday Avalanche

 

It was Monday morning, though the flat did not make any grand announcement of the fact.

Instead, the day slipped in sluggishly, carefree and indifferent. A pale ray of light sifted through the half-pulled curtains of Felix's tiny apartment — more revealing than it was informative. Dust motes floated in the stagnant air, poised like tiny doubts. The sunlight crawled across the room, hesitantly at first, then settled on the floor and cluttered desk like a reluctant guest who'd stolen the last cup of coffee.

In the kitchen, the kettle murmured low, its sound both mundane and somehow of the earth. It was not loud — just insistent enough to remind him that time was slipping away, regardless of how ready Felix was. The aroma of stale toast lingered around the corner, combined with the acuity of the whine of the radiator. Steam curled up in tall, airy scrolls, evaporating into silence. The air held a muted tension, as if before a curtain rises or thunder rolls.

Felix stood barefoot on the cold tile, hanging in that space between doing and not. His mind spun with formless urgency, the sort that didn't give answers — only clatter. Something fermented inside him: not quite panic, not quite grief. Just weight.

He plodded through the morning like a man wading through treacle.

Slow. Sluggish. Not so much here, but not away either. When he finally slumped into the chair behind his desk, it creaked gently, objecting to another day's start. His fingers lay on the keyboard, unmoving, suspended like a pianist over a piece he'd forgotten the way of. The cursor blinked. Steady. Waiting.

He didn't.

The mind whispered: begin. But the body waited.

Too much.

Too many open tabs in his mind.

Too many hanging tasks are left hanging mid-thought or never begun.

Too many unseen weights pressing down at skewed angles.

A gasp. Deep. Measured.

Inhale.

Click.

Exhale.

The screen snapped into clarity.

3,712 unread messages.

The face glared back at him, red, stark, and so smug. It did not blink. It critiqued. Every number was a breadcrumb trail of things not done, plans left in suspension. His stomach tightened, that knot of shame turning in on itself.

He glanced around at his desktop — a digital mess of disarray. Notes with such headings as Big Ideas!!! and IDK Maybe struggled with half-done docs, scattered screenshots, and open tabs that blurred the edge between research and procrastination. A half-done Q4 marketing strategy was uncomfortably next to a note to Call Aunt Linda. He hadn't. He wouldn't. Not today. Maybe.

His laughter had been empty. A noise without laughter.

Scattered thoughts.

Scattered follow-through.

And then, the list.

If the inbox was a war zone, the to-do list was an archaeological site — a landscape of past longings. It stretched out on the screen like the remains of a one-time aspirational self. Things that were pressing now had cobwebs on them. Others were enigmatic: Buy llamas. Was it a joke? Was it a metaphor? He didn't know anymore.

Some of the things stung to read — respond to Sarah, fix broken link, dentist. Every line bulked out the more he looked at it, cliffs taking shape out of the mist. The list did not guide him. It condemned. A monument to intentions gone wrong.

He leaned back, pinching his palms over his eyes until red spots burst. In that brief darkness, self-inflicted, there was peace. Nothing was asking for anything from him. But when he opened his eyes, the emails persisted. The list. The tension.

A car passed by outside. A woman's siren keened in the distance and faded away. Somebody else was living a Monday somewhere that was working. Felix looked down. His mug was cold in his hand. But he still held it. The comfort was gone, but the gesture was there. He took a sip anyway. Bitter. Real.

Why did it always end like that?

He was smart — everybody said so. Thoughtful. The kind of person who noticed patterns where others didn't see any. But those accolades were no match for this immobilisation. The gap between action and knowledge yawned vast and unfilled. He'd listened to podcasts. Bought planners. Colour-coded his damned calendar. And yet…

The day before, he'd had a plan.

The journal was still open on the desk, hopeful and neat: Wake up at 7. Meditate. Inbox Zero. Deep Work.

That. Theory. Today was not like that. <i>Something</i> more twisted.

Emotion had lagged behind.

The banding back came now — that tightness in the chest, near-panic, near-depression without a name. He stood up. <i>Lunched</i> an untainted cup. Opened Instagram. Closed it. Scrambled over the headline of an article on <i>The Pomodoro Technique</i>. Did not click.

He was dancing around the starting line. Blocking.

Then <i>came the voice</i>.

Not loud. Not angry. Just… familiar.

What's the point?

You're behind.

You should've started weeks ago.

Why can't you get it together?

It wasn't meant. That was the trick. It sounded like sense. Like help. But it tied him up in position.

He did make himself believe the problem was the inbox. Or the mess of the list. Or the rotten sleep. But none of those were truths. Not really.

The true enemy was quieter.

It was the value he placed on the mess.

The belief that overwhelm was equal to shattered.

That procrastination signaled vulnerability.

Those things not done were shameful.

But… what if they weren't?

What if e-mails were just that — e-mails?

What if the to-do list wasn't a test of character, just a guide?

What if he didn't need to climb to the summit of the whole mountain today?

He blinked. That thought landed differently.

Maybe one step would be enough.

A pause. Then — doubt:

Or maybe that's just a cop-out?

But the counterattack didn't land. Not this time.

He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. Slow. Honest. Something in his chest uncoiled. His shoulders dropped by an inch, just enough to notice. He sat back down. The chair still warm. The tea is still cold. He drank it anyway. Bitter. But anchoring.

The inbox still held 3,712.

But not this time, he didn't blink. Didn't orchestrate an inbox-zero miracle.

He just opened the first email.

It was a good client. Friendly tone. Simple question.

He replied. A few words.

No stress.

No fear.

He sent.

And something stirred.

Small. Unobtrusive, maybe. But unmistakable.

Not a breakthrough.

Not a swelling of music in the cinema.

Just… movement.

The kind that doesn't change everything — and yet starts everything.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning.

Not because he finished.

But because he finally started.

And sometimes, that's the bravest thing a person can do.

Two-Minute Rule

Felix slumped over his desk, both hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that was long cold. He held it like a lifeline, some tiny well of warmth, although it provided none. The bitterness lingered on his tongue, less comfort than distraction, a razor's edge in an otherwise dull afternoon.

Around him, the office pulsed with its usual lethargic buzz — the gentle whir of a laser printer, muted clacking of keyboards, rustling of papers, or muffled hum of voices from a meeting room. Over him, fluorescent lights hummed gently, throwing their antiseptic light over rows of desks and tired faces. Outside the windowed panes sealed tight, the world continued turning, oblivious to his inertia.

Near the kitchenette, a colleague leaned against the counter, absently stirring her coffee with the detached nonchalance open to someone with half her unread inboxes. She didn't even look his direction as she spoke — or maybe she wasn't speaking to him in the first place — but...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 24.8.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Sachbuch/Ratgeber ► Gesundheit / Leben / Psychologie ► Lebenshilfe / Lebensführung
• ISBN-10: 0-00-103244-5 / 0001032445
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-103244-6 / 9780001032446