A constant onslaught of information.
I’ve realised I’m addicted to learning. Not the noble, lifelong kind that sounds good on resumes, but something closer to compulsive consumption. My inbox is full of newsletters I never finish. My podcast queue is endless. Audiobooks fill the gaps when I’m driving or mowing the lawn. If there’s a spare moment, I’ll find something to feed into my brain.
It feels productive and thats the trap. I’m not wasting time on social media or random entertainment; I’m feeding curiosity, keeping current, staying sharp. I’m learning! At least that’s the story I tell myself. The reality is I’m bombarding my brain with so much information that it never really shuts up. And when it does, I feel guilty, like the silence is laziness.
Somewhere along the way, this became my default state. Learning used to mean curiosity, depth, application. Now it’s more like a constant motion. There’s always a new language, a new framework, a new idea that might be relevant to something I’ll work on one day. And because all that information is right there, cheap or free, the friction to keep consuming is almost zero. It’s the most respectable form of addiction: a loop that feels virtuous but still burns energy and attention just the same.
What’s strange is that I can’t point to a moment when it stopped being useful. I still function fine. I can focus, solve problems, deliver. But when I step back and notice the pattern - and really thats what I do on this blog, I notice patterns. It feels less like growth and more like noise. A quiet sense that I’m mistaking activity for progress. The irony is that I remember very little of what I absorb, and apply even less. All that learning isn’t compounding; it’s evaporating.
When I do force myself to switch it all off — no podcasts, no articles, no background audio — the silence feels unnatural. My mind scrambles to fill it with something else. Usually work problems. Sometimes plans. Almost never nothing. I’ve trained myself to associate quiet with idleness, and idleness with guilt.
Developers are especially good at rationalising this kind of restlessness. There’s always something new to learn, some new tool threatening to make what you know obsolete. Falling behind creates a kind of professional anxiety. Keep learning or get left behind. So we stay plugged in, feeding the machine, pretending the constant stream of information makes us future proof.
The problem is that learning has become a passive act. I’m not exploring questions anymore; I’m collecting answers to problems I haven’t even encountered yet. It’s like packing for a trip I might never take. Most of it sits unused, cluttering my mental attic. And because there’s always more, there’s never a reason to stop and unpack what I’ve already got. It feels like that show, hoarders, except the mess lives in my brain.
Stillness has started to feel like a lost skill. When the input stops, I don’t feel relaxed — I feel unfinished, like I’m missing an opportunity to be better. But that constant pursuit of better leaves no room for integration, no time for thoughts to mature into understanding.
Every so often, I try to do less on purpose. Not as some grand digital detox, just a small rebellion against the reflex to fill every gap. A drive without an audiobook. A walk without a podcast. Silence, even when it feels wasteful. Most of the time it doesn’t feel like much changes. The world doesn’t slow down. My brain doesn’t suddenly clear. But sometimes, after the restlessness passes, I notice ideas connecting in ways they hadn’t before. Thoughts that used to skim the surface start to sink in.
Maybe that’s the real point I’m circling here. Learning isn’t supposed to be constant. It’s supposed to be absorbed, metabolised, turned into something useful. The inputs only matter if they lead to better output. Otherwise it’s just noise that happens to sound productive.
I’m not trying to quit learning. Curiosity has always been the best part of the job and honestly its part of who I am. But I’m starting to think the real skill isn’t how much we can consume; it’s how much we can let settle. In a world where everyone’s streaming knowledge on loop, maybe the rarest advantage is stillness.
Or maybe this is just a problem only I have.