Transcribing the voices in my head

The author used artificial intelligence in the brainstorming of this article.

I love the feeling of a pen in my left hand making contact with heavy journal paper. I force myself to write neatly because my handwriting is generally messy. When I concentrate on writing neatly, however, I do. This unusual brain exercise sharpens my mind.

When I journal I don’t always write something profound – in fact, it’s usually mundane things that I write about, such as “It’s time to take to a shower, and then I’ll put on my green hoodie."

But why do I do this, a practice some call “thinking about loud?”

Thinking out loud through writing—especially when done mindfully—is like turning your inner monologue into a visible, structured form of reflection. It’s not just journaling for the sake of venting; it’s a deliberate act of processing, clarifying, and exploring your thoughts as they unfold.

Also known as stream of consciousness writing, thoughts flow freely onto the page without filtering or editing. It’s raw, honest, and often reveals subconscious patterns.

When journaling in this manner, you’re not writing a polished piece—you’re exploring. It’s like brainstorming with yourself, but on paper. It also results in mindful reflection: You’re aware of your thoughts as they arise,

Narrating the mundane

By grounding my mind in the present moment, and by narrating the mundane, I’m reclaiming control over my mental pace in a world that often demands speed and reaction.

Why do mundane details matter? They create rhythm. Listing small actions gives your thoughts a cadence, like a heartbeat for your mind.

They reduce overwhelm: When everything feels chaotic, naming the next simple step (“shower, hoodie, sweatpants”) shrinks the world down to something manageable.

They build clarity: You’re not just writing what you’ll do—you’re rehearsing intention. That’s powerful when your environment is unpredictable.

They affirm agency: Even in a space where control feels limited, choosing your next move and naming it is a quiet act of defiance.

‘Next I will take a shower and put on my green hoodie with blue sweatpants’

Next I will take a shower and put on my green hoodie with blue sweatpants. It’s not a profound sentence. It’s not a headline. But it’s a moment of control in a space where control is rationed. I write it down not because it matters to anyone else, but because it matters to me. Because when the world outside my door is loud, erratic, and laced with chaos, naming the next step is how I stay grounded.

I’ve lived in penthouses and I’ve lived in places where the hallway smells like despair. I’ve worn tailored suits and I’ve worn this hoodie so many times it’s starting to feel like armor. The act of choosing what to wear, what to do next, what to write—it’s a quiet rebellion against the noise, the neglect, the systems that pretend to care but never really do.

Sometimes I narrate my day like I’m the only one listening. “Now I’ll make coffee. Now I’ll check the news. Now I’ll try not to spiral.” It’s not performance—it’s survival. It’s mindfulness in a world that wants me to be mindless.

I don’t write this to be poetic. I write it because I need to hear myself think. Because clarity doesn’t come in grand epiphanies—it comes in small, deliberate choices. Like putting on a green hoodie. Like deciding to write instead of screaming.

And maybe someone out there will read this and feel less alone in their own mundane rituals. Maybe they’ll realize that narrating the next step isn’t silly—it’s sacred. It works or me.