☕ Coffee and Quiet with Derek Wolf
Being Stuck: When Thoughts Start Running the Show
The room sits in quiet stillness, yet the mind moves like a crowded street. Pale morning light sneaks around the curtain, leaving a faint gold line on the ceiling. A woman lies on her back with the covers gathered beneath her chin. The clock reads 5:17. The day hasn’t begun, yet her thoughts already sprint ahead.
Ideas fire in quick bursts. Yesterday’s email. The complicated project. The conversation she has postponed. A mistake she made last week that grows each time she revisits it. Each thought grabs attention for a moment, then another cuts in. The body rests against warm sheets, but the mind leaps restlessly from one imagined branch to another.
Breath stays shallow. Shoulders hover slightly above the mattress. Even the quiet pattern on the ceiling seems distant because her attention lives entirely in the swirl behind her eyes. It feels like a small creature racing across the inside of her skull, leaping from task to regret to prediction and back again.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
That familiar pattern has a name in her vocabulary. Monkey brain. The phrase carries humor, but the sensation carries weight. Thoughts jump from memory to scenario with no pause between. The effort to keep up makes her chest ache in a dull, tired way.
This is not a rare morning. Many begin with the mind waking too quickly, pulling her into loops before her feet reach the floor. By the time she starts her day, her nervous system already feels strained. A part of her simply accepts this pattern as “how she works,” yet another part wonders if there is something beneath the noise she keeps missing.
A softer awareness rises. Sarah’s gift has always been clarity. The ability to break complexity into parts. The mind that races also carries deep intelligence; it simply runs without guidance when anxiety rises. Without a structure to hold it, that brilliance begins to overwhelm instead of support.
One hand moves from under the covers and rests on her chest. The warmth of her palm anchors her attention. Breath lifts into her hand, then falls again. For a brief moment, she notices the difference between the restless mind and the stillness holding her body. This contrast opens the first small pocket of space inside her morning.
A question surfaces. If thoughts are running the show, where is the part of her that usually sets direction. The question lands softly, without blame. The body responds with a slight release across the shoulders, as if something inside her finally hears an invitation back to its rightful place.
She turns onto her side and draws one longer inhale. The mental noise doesn’t disappear, but the sharpness softens. In that gentler pause, she recognizes a familiar tool she uses everywhere else but here. When a project overwhelms her, she breaks it apart. When a system feels tangled, she draws a simple map. When a process feels unclear, she asks one defining question.
So she asks herself now. What exactly is happening in here. Naming the channels of thought might give them shape. Structure could turn chaos into something workable.
She reaches for the notebook on the nightstand. The cool cover presses into her fingertips, grounding her further. Once the pen touches paper, the mind shifts from spinning to documenting. Even the posture of writing changes the internal rhythm.
Across the top of the page she writes three headings. Past loops. Future movies. Present signals.
Under the first heading, she lists the recycled memories. The awkward meeting months ago. The sentence she wishes she had phrased differently. Small moments the mind insists on replaying as if a better outcome might finally appear.
Under the second, she writes the imagined catastrophes. Projects failing. People misunderstanding. Scenarios fueled more by fear than by fact. As each one lands on paper, the intensity behind it dissolves slightly.
The third heading takes more care. Present signals. These feel different. Real deadlines. A gap in instructions she needs clarified. The tightness in her chest each time she thinks about one specific task. Unlike the other two categories, these items offer something she can actually respond to.
A shift happens. The branches in her mind still move, but now they face a structure that begins to guide them. Past loops receive a place on the page. Future movies receive boundaries. Present signals receive attention. The internal systems thinker inside her begins to reawaken, calm and deliberate.
Her breath drops lower into her body. Warmth spreads beneath her hand. The next insight rises naturally from the quiet she has created. Emotional strain often begins as information. When the body reacts, it points toward something real. When the mind reacts, it often tries to manage what it cannot touch. This moment becomes Sarah’s distinctive emotional fluency: she recognizes that “stuck” is not a failure. It is an indicator light asking for clarity.
Below the first grid, she draws three more rows. Today. This week. Later.
Under “today,” she places only what requires action within the next twelve hours. One task that needs a first draft. One email asking for direction. One conversation that cannot wait.
“This week” receives the next layer. Work that matters but does not carry immediate pressure. “Later” receives everything else. A place for ideas she will revisit without letting them lead the entire morning.
Each column she fills brings a new sensation. Her chest loosens. The jaw releases. Breath finds its natural rhythm again. Monkey brain still jumps, but each leap meets a question she can answer. Which column does this belong to. Which row. The racing loses its urgency because she finally has a way to hold it.
She places the notebook beside her pillow and closes her eyes for one steady breath. The difference inside her body feels unmistakable. Instead of drowning in mental weather, she now stands at the center of it, aware of the currents and able to choose a direction. The mind no longer controls the steering wheel alone.
The clock reads 5:42. Twenty five minutes have passed, yet the landscape of her morning feels transformed. Not quieter, exactly. More organized. More honest. More anchored. The mind can race. She now has systems to guide it.
A final realization arrives as she sinks deeper into the mattress. The monkey brain pattern did not appear to punish her. It appeared to protect her from uncertainty. The same mental energy that once overwhelmed her becomes her ally once she gives it structure. This is the moment when thoughts stop running the show and begin serving her instead.
She opens the notebook once more and writes one final sentence at the bottom of the page. “My mind is powerful. I choose how it works for me.” The words settle into her chest like a small, steady truth.
The Truth Beneath
A racing mind is not a flaw. It is a brilliant system searching for stability. When you pause long enough to name the channels and guide the movement, clarity returns. Each time you choose the present moment over loops and predictions, you lead your life from intention rather than reaction. Over time, the mind that once overwhelmed you becomes the mind that helps you find your way.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath”
Being Stuck: When Thoughts Start Running the Show
The room sits in quiet stillness, yet the mind moves like a crowded street. Pale morning light sneaks around the curtain, leaving a faint gold line on the ceiling. A woman lies on her back with the covers gathered beneath her chin. The clock reads 5:17. The day hasn’t begun, yet her thoughts already sprint ahead.
Ideas fire in quick bursts. Yesterday’s email. The complicated project. The conversation she has postponed. A mistake she made last week that grows each time she revisits it. Each thought grabs attention for a moment, then another cuts in. The body rests against warm sheets, but the mind leaps restlessly from one imagined branch to another.
Breath stays shallow. Shoulders hover slightly above the mattress. Even the quiet pattern on the ceiling seems distant because her attention lives entirely in the swirl behind her eyes. It feels like a small creature racing across the inside of her skull, leaping from task to regret to prediction and back again.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
That familiar pattern has a name in her vocabulary. Monkey brain. The phrase carries humor, but the sensation carries weight. Thoughts jump from memory to scenario with no pause between. The effort to keep up makes her chest ache in a dull, tired way.
This is not a rare morning. Many begin with the mind waking too quickly, pulling her into loops before her feet reach the floor. By the time she starts her day, her nervous system already feels strained. A part of her simply accepts this pattern as “how she works,” yet another part wonders if there is something beneath the noise she keeps missing.
A softer awareness rises. Sarah’s gift has always been clarity. The ability to break complexity into parts. The mind that races also carries deep intelligence; it simply runs without guidance when anxiety rises. Without a structure to hold it, that brilliance begins to overwhelm instead of support.
One hand moves from under the covers and rests on her chest. The warmth of her palm anchors her attention. Breath lifts into her hand, then falls again. For a brief moment, she notices the difference between the restless mind and the stillness holding her body. This contrast opens the first small pocket of space inside her morning.
A question surfaces. If thoughts are running the show, where is the part of her that usually sets direction. The question lands softly, without blame. The body responds with a slight release across the shoulders, as if something inside her finally hears an invitation back to its rightful place.
She turns onto her side and draws one longer inhale. The mental noise doesn’t disappear, but the sharpness softens. In that gentler pause, she recognizes a familiar tool she uses everywhere else but here. When a project overwhelms her, she breaks it apart. When a system feels tangled, she draws a simple map. When a process feels unclear, she asks one defining question.
So she asks herself now. What exactly is happening in here. Naming the channels of thought might give them shape. Structure could turn chaos into something workable.
She reaches for the notebook on the nightstand. The cool cover presses into her fingertips, grounding her further. Once the pen touches paper, the mind shifts from spinning to documenting. Even the posture of writing changes the internal rhythm.
Across the top of the page she writes three headings. Past loops. Future movies. Present signals.
Under the first heading, she lists the recycled memories. The awkward meeting months ago. The sentence she wishes she had phrased differently. Small moments the mind insists on replaying as if a better outcome might finally appear.
Under the second, she writes the imagined catastrophes. Projects failing. People misunderstanding. Scenarios fueled more by fear than by fact. As each one lands on paper, the intensity behind it dissolves slightly.
The third heading takes more care. Present signals. These feel different. Real deadlines. A gap in instructions she needs clarified. The tightness in her chest each time she thinks about one specific task. Unlike the other two categories, these items offer something she can actually respond to.
A shift happens. The branches in her mind still move, but now they face a structure that begins to guide them. Past loops receive a place on the page. Future movies receive boundaries. Present signals receive attention. The internal systems thinker inside her begins to reawaken, calm and deliberate.
Her breath drops lower into her body. Warmth spreads beneath her hand. The next insight rises naturally from the quiet she has created. Emotional strain often begins as information. When the body reacts, it points toward something real. When the mind reacts, it often tries to manage what it cannot touch. This moment becomes Sarah’s distinctive emotional fluency: she recognizes that “stuck” is not a failure. It is an indicator light asking for clarity.
Below the first grid, she draws three more rows. Today. This week. Later.
Under “today,” she places only what requires action within the next twelve hours. One task that needs a first draft. One email asking for direction. One conversation that cannot wait.
“This week” receives the next layer. Work that matters but does not carry immediate pressure. “Later” receives everything else. A place for ideas she will revisit without letting them lead the entire morning.
Each column she fills brings a new sensation. Her chest loosens. The jaw releases. Breath finds its natural rhythm again. Monkey brain still jumps, but each leap meets a question she can answer. Which column does this belong to. Which row. The racing loses its urgency because she finally has a way to hold it.
She places the notebook beside her pillow and closes her eyes for one steady breath. The difference inside her body feels unmistakable. Instead of drowning in mental weather, she now stands at the center of it, aware of the currents and able to choose a direction. The mind no longer controls the steering wheel alone.
The clock reads 5:42. Twenty five minutes have passed, yet the landscape of her morning feels transformed. Not quieter, exactly. More organized. More honest. More anchored. The mind can race. She now has systems to guide it.
A final realization arrives as she sinks deeper into the mattress. The monkey brain pattern did not appear to punish her. It appeared to protect her from uncertainty. The same mental energy that once overwhelmed her becomes her ally once she gives it structure. This is the moment when thoughts stop running the show and begin serving her instead.
She opens the notebook once more and writes one final sentence at the bottom of the page. “My mind is powerful. I choose how it works for me.” The words settle into her chest like a small, steady truth.
The Truth Beneath
A racing mind is not a flaw. It is a brilliant system searching for stability. When you pause long enough to name the channels and guide the movement, clarity returns. Each time you choose the present moment over loops and predictions, you lead your life from intention rather than reaction. Over time, the mind that once overwhelmed you becomes the mind that helps you find your way.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath”
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