Lately, I keep feeling like, “I just don’t have anything to say.”

Which is not true. I have a lot to say. (Just ask my husband.)

There was a time when every week I’d be sending you a podcast episode and a thoughtful email about energy, Flow, life, inner power…all the things we love to explore as we powerfully grow and curate our lives.

But still, when I sit down to record a podcast or type an email to you, sometimes I feel as stubborn as a dog refusing to enter the vet doorway.

I just don’t want to add to the overload.

Our collective overload.

I am overwhelmed. You’re probably overwhelmed. It’s like a family dinner and all 8 billion of us are talking at once. Not only that, but we’ve trained our AI to spit out even more reams of information than we ourselves do.

It’s all just becoming noise now.

Case in point: When I began podcasting in 2005, there were perhaps 12,000 podcasts to choose from. Today, there are almost 3 million.

How many newsletters were you subscribed to in 2005? Maybe 4, and of those two were ones you got in your actual physical mailbox? Now how many are you email unsubscribing from each week? (I average 2-3, or around 120-150 per year.)

My point is that with so much information at my fingertips, I’m suffering from information paralysis.

Our US news cycle and whiplash politics are certainly not helping.

I heard recently that reading books is declining. Professors are studying why, and the result…you guessed it…it’s because we’re literally reading and scrolling all day long now, every day, on our devices. Sitting down to read a book for two additional hours in a day becomes a torturous exercise of attention.

* * *

Teaching about Flowdreaming, limiting beliefs, lack thinking, personal inner power, and intuition will always be in my blood.

But at the moment, I find myself gestating on these concepts instead, pulling them back like a mother hen carefully protecting her eggs.

Over the last twenty years, I poured so much that I’ve learned into my last three books (and two more are cooking), as well as 40+ courses, nearly 800 podcast episodes, thousands of hours of live classes, multiple live retreats and events, and almost 370 recorded Flowdreams. 

I have certainly done my part in contributing to the personal wellness field.

Which again brings me to my point: If you’re feeling a strange kind of “life paralysis,” or an inability to make a decision about where to go next, what program to enroll in, where to move, what next career move to make, or even  simply a stubbornness and strange irritability about everything just being too much…then you are not alone.

You have done a lot. And now, choosing the next thing to do is being collectively muddled and oppressed by a deluge of information streaming down on our heads like never-ending rain.

It’s not just you. We are sensitives and empaths—we feel everything before we have words to describe the shift in winds. 

You are feeling our collective groan and sense of helplessness and confusion at the overflowing sewage of….choices.

Yes, choices.

Decisions used to be easier to make. We had far fewer choices. It was easier to pick one and land. The landmark study by Iyengar and Lepper in 2000 showed us that shoppers were more likely to purchase jam when presented with 6 options (30% purchased) compared to 24 options (only 3% purchased). They called it “decision paralysis.”

Now, there are so many daily choices that choosing anything feels precarious.

It feels like there’s more to lose if we’re wrong. Yes, we keep filtering the onslaught of information and making choices, but each choice is less steady, with more feelings of uncertainty and anxiety.

I noticed this when I was readying myself to adopt some new kitty friends. My very old gals passed away in 2023, so I’m shocked that it’s taken me more than a year to find some new furry babies. But then I realized what was going on: In the past, I’d just go to the Humane Society or local rescue and find a kitty who needed a home. Bingo. Done.

Today, I follow dozens of rescue organizations on Instagram. Every day, hundreds of cats are up for adoption not just in my town, but everywhere, with rescues even flying cats in from Dubai or Mexico.  And I can find and see them all. An evening spent on petfinder.com leaves me listless and overwhelmed.

I don’t know who to pick. So maybe I should just keep looking?

Or, maybe you remember a time when you couldn’t endlessly swipe left. You only got to meet a new potential parter at a dinner party or bar—live, in the flesh, and there were only a couple of people to even choose from on any given occasion. Yet it was somehow easier. People still dated and got married, and it worked…even with far fewer choices and much less noise.

Again, my point is that society is currently hellbent on making it harder for us to make and put faith in concrete choices. 

This is the result of the giant web (the world wide web!) of interconnectedness we’ve built these last twenty years. 

This is the result of AI that are quintupling the output of information even as we speak.

This is why the choices we’re making feel less reliable, more fragile somehow. Our level of uncertainty stops us in our tracks.

Oh sure, I’m still making choices and getting sh*t done. But everything is tinged with uncertainty.

So hear me out:  It’s not you. It’s that we’re all bathing in an ocean of contradictory, compelling, overwhelming noise. The noise of all 8 billion of us is so loud we can’t even hear each other anymore.

And the way out? It’s to pick up a butter knife and start cleaving our way through the thicket. On the one hand, unsubscribe. Toss out those social accounts or apps. Reduce the noise in your purse or pocket however you can.

On the other hand, dig in and start making choices. Commit. Then go deep with your choices. Go deep with the information that you do allow to access your life. Let guidance step in. Get ready to course correct as needed. Get back to real, concrete things and people you love.

And mostly, know we are all feeling it and struggling to keep up.

We are learning to swim in a new ocean, and in the beginning, it’s rough. But it will get better. We will learn. 

And then one day, it’ll be like those “olden times” when we left voicemails on physical answering machines and had to wait a whole day before someone got home and checked the cassette tape to discover that we’d reached out. 

We once had a blessed sense of space, privacy, and the ability to focus on just one thing at a time. 

We had space to breathe. 

And we had more time to filter the fewer choices we had, and less much anxiety about picking wrong.

We can get there again. The first step is just waking up to our place in the deluge—and then calling it what it is: unimportant noise.

P.S. If my words struck you, please let me know. Am I on to something?

Please leave me your thoughts in the comments below.