Our problem isn't that we don't know enough.
Open any screen and the world will supply you with endless takes, clips, "must-read" threads and "must-watch" videos. You can drown in knowledge without ever touching your own life.
We have a problem of asymmetry.
A brain built for action is trapped in an age of endless input. The mismatch is destabilizing people, and it's only getting worse.
1. A decision-making machine drowned in trivial signals
You can put almost all human activity into two buckets:
- Input: everything that pours into your head: feeds, shows, messages, podcasts, music, news, ambient scrolling.
- Output: everything that comes out from you: writing, speaking, building, deciding, moving, arguing, performing.
For most people, that ratio is not calibrated correctly. It's something like 80% input, 20% output.
A UC San Diego analysis estimated that the average American was already consuming about 34 gigabytes and 100,000 words of information per day back in 2008, before smartphones and short-form video fully took over.
That's a novel's worth of information every day, poured into a brain that still has the same wiring as a guy living in the 1300s.
The structure of a typical day makes the asymmetry obvious:
- You wake up and read 30 notifications before you even sit up.
- You scroll while brushing your teeth, while eating, while walking, while "taking a break" from work.
- You open 12 tabs, skim all of them, finish none.
- You watch other people talk instead of having hard conversations yourself.
- You read about habits instead of doing any.
Massive input, small output. A life lived in spectator mode.
2. What constant input actually does to your brain
This has real effects.
The brain’s alert system was built for a world where danger showed up a few times a day. A predator, a storm, a confrontation. Today it gets triggered hundreds of times before lunch.
Endless feeds, alerts, arguments and status games are all interpreted as micro-threats: social risk, status loss, uncertainty, potential danger. Each one brings a small surge of stress.
We know what chronic stress does in biological terms. Long-term cortisol exposure remodels key brain regions: the hippocampus (memory and context), the prefrontal cortex (planning, impulse control, decision-making) and the amygdala (fear and threat bias).
- The hippocampus shrinks and becomes less efficient at forming and retrieving memories.
- Your capacity for sustained focus and self-control literally erodes.
- The amygdala becomes more reactive. Anxiety and irritability stop being "moods" and start being the baseline.
Layer constant input on top of that and you get something worse: a brain that is both overstimulated and underpowered.
Multiple studies have found that heavy media multitaskers perform worse on tasks requiring working memory and sustained attention, compared with light multitaskers. They're more distractible, more vulnerable to irrelevant stimuli, and less able to filter noise from signal.
Put simply: the more you live in feeds, the less you can trust your own attention.
3. Input crowds out the part of your brain that makes anything new
There's another casualty of an input-heavy life: internally generated thought.
When you're not reacting to the outside world, your brain shifts into what neuroscientists call the default mode network, a set of regions that kick on when you're daydreaming, reflecting, running mental simulations, or thinking about your future. This network is heavily implicated in creativity and imaginative work.
This is the circuitry that quietly stitches together ideas, recombines memories and asks uncomfortable questions about where your life is going.
Constant input means that part of your brain never gets any freedom . You never give it uninterrupted time. Every time it boots up, in the shower, on a walk, in the silence between tasks, you reach for your phone and swap it out for something louder.
Then you wonder why you feel creatively empty, why you can't make decisions, why your sense of self feels thin. It's not a mystery. You've outsourced the job of filling your mind to everyone except yourself.
4. A simple example: two lives built from the same hours
Take two people with the same job, same commute, same number of hours in the day.
Person A spends every spare gap on input.
They scroll in bed, scroll on the toilet, scroll in line, scroll on the couch. They "keep up" with everything and produce almost nothing: the occasional Slack message, a few emails, a one-line comment in a group chat.
By the end of the week, they've consumed the equivalent of several books, hundreds of clips, and dozens of arguments. Ask them what they actually did, and the list is thin.
Person B uses the same total hours differently.
They still consume (we still need a good amount of input) but they carve out chunks of the day for output:
- 20 minutes of writing each morning before touching their phone.
- A daily voice note to a friend or a camera, forcing themselves to articulate what they think.
- One small build a day: a script, a mockup, a cold email, a decision they've been avoiding.
- Walks without headphones, letting their default mode network do its work.
At the end of the week, they've read less and seen fewer clips. But they have actual artifacts: pages, messages, decisions, reps. Their brain has been in "builder" mode more than "spectator" mode.
Given enough weeks, the difference stops being invisible. One person has a portfolio; the other has a watch history.
5. Why "balance" isn't optional
It's true that input isn't all bad. Reading, watching, listening are how you absorb models of the world you could never derive from scratch.
The problem is not that you consume.
The problem is being outnumbered.
A mind that is 80% input, 20% output becomes a place where:
- Other people's priorities define what you think about.
- Stress chemistry is constantly triggered but rarely discharged through real action.
- Creative systems in the brain are starved of the quiet they need to do their work.
- Your sense of agency withers, because most of your time is spent observing decisions, not making them.
At that point, slogans about "focus" or "self-discipline" are pointless. The system isn't lazy; it's miswired for the environment it's now trapped in.
6. Fixing the ratio
You don't need a 37-step protocol or digital detox or magnesium. You need to shift the ratio.
Here's what helped me:
1. Start off right.
Start the day with reading a physical page, writing a paragraph, or taking a silent walk. You are telling your brain, "We start the day as an agent, not a spectator."
2. Pair consumption with creation.
Read for 20 minutes? Write for 10. Listen to a podcast? Pause halfway and write down three lines on what you actually think. If you can't produce even a sentence in your own words, that input was entertainment, not learning.
3. Introduce friction to junk input.
Remove apps from your home screen. Log out. Use your phone only as a tool. Anything that makes unconscious input less convenient will expose how little of it you actually value.
4. Make output small but daily.
One paragraph. One message that matters. One decision you've been dodging. One rep toward a project. The absolute size is less important than the identity: "Every day, something comes out of my head into the world."
Aim first for 50/50. Half your discretionary mental energy on action and expression. Then push toward 60/40 or 70/30 in favor of output.
You'll feel the difference faster than you think. Attention improves. Anxiety loosens. Ideas start showing up in the shower again. You stop feeling like life is something happening on the other side of glass.
The truth is that you are not just what you know or what you've seen. You are what you make, what you say, what you decide, what you risk.
Right now, most of your hours are being converted into other people's metrics: views, impressions, "engagement".
Rebalancing input and output is essential.
You can keep living as a set of eyes pointed at a screen, or you can force your mind back into the role it was built for: not a container for information, but a machine for turning experience into something new.