I was out of balance. It had become far too easy to consume, consume, consume—endless input, infinite noise, and an overwhelming deluge of content.
We live in a world of social media, constant connectivity, and tiny supercomputers that never leave our hands. The firehose of information is always on, always churning, always pulling us in.
Oh, did you hear about Trump? What now…
I should check out the Bob Dylan biopic. Wait—how old is Timothée Chalamet again?
What’s the weather today?
Did you see the latest AI update? ChatGPT just dropped a new version.
Maybe I’ll scroll Twitter for a second.
And just like that, another hour vanishes.
It’s a vicious cycle—one that keeps us in a state of constant, passive consumption. And at what cost? The cost of output. The cost of creation. The cost of understanding, deep thinking, and self-expression.
Like I said, I was out of balance.
I’m currently reading The Artist’s Way (highly recommended), and one idea in particular hit me hard—a consumption detox.
The premise is simple but radical: stop consuming entirely. No social media, no news, no TV shows, no movies. But it didn’t stop there. It extended to my beloved books and podcasts—the things I had always associated with productivity. But in reality, they were just another form of consumption.
The goal? To strip away input so that output could finally emerge.
Not in a forced way—no pressure, no artificial constraints. Just space. What would you create if there was nothing left to consume? If you weren’t caught up in the latest trends, the constant need to “learn,” or the endless cycle of researching instead of doing?
That’s when I realized: I do this all the time.
Instead of actually writing, I read about writing. Instead of starting, I take another course. Instead of creating, I convince myself I need just a little more knowledge first.
It’s self-sabotage disguised as self-improvement. And yet, the best way to learn has always been by doing.
This made a lot of sense.
What would you create if there was nothing left to consume?
This past week, I went on what I like to call a think week—a solo trip where I typically disconnect, give myself headspace, and, more often than not, devour a stack of books.
But this time, I tried something different.
Instead of filling every empty moment with input, I pressed pause. I gave myself space for output.
So what happened?
1. I picked up my camera again—for the first time in a decade.
Photography had always been a passion, but life, work, and everything in between had pushed it to the back burner. On this trip, I found myself drawn to capturing moments, experimenting with light and perspective, simply enjoying the process. It was a creative exercise with low stakes—something I could easily integrate into my busy life, balancing startup hustle with family time. (You can check out some of the photos from the trip here)
2. I started writing again. (Exhibit A: this post)
But beyond that, I finally took the leap into something I’d been circling for months—writing fiction.
I had done everything to prepare—read the books, watched the MasterClasses, mapped out ideas. The one thing I hadn’t done? Write.
And then, suddenly, I did.
What started as a few scattered notes in my Notion turned into hours of deep, uninterrupted work. Four-hour stretches, fully immersed in a story that had been waiting for me to bring it to life. I found flow—something I hadn’t felt in ages. And, to my surprise, I realized that I loved the process. Sure, it’s not perfect, but that’s not the point. I finally started.
I still did some reading (I can’t help myself—mostly fiction), but other than that, the inputs were on hold. And what filled the space? Energy. Creativity. Momentum.
I started this experiment feeling out of balance—drowning in information, always consuming, rarely creating. But by stepping away, I didn’t lose anything. I gained.
More clarity. More focus. More creativity.
Turns out, the fix wasn’t more input—it was less.
Sometimes, the most valuable thing you can do isn’t to learn more, research more, or absorb more. It’s to stop. To give yourself the space to think, to create, to do.
And when you do? You might just surprise yourself.