Too Much World

Usually on Wednesdays I write about some aspect of our techno-dystopia and how ordinary human beings who aren’t part of an apparatus of extraction, control, predation and nihilism might navigate these times. Which is all fine and good. But today I want to talk about the constant bombardment of information producing feelings of uncertainty, overwhelm, fear and anxiety.

The advice to touch grass remains pretty good. Sometimes, though, the blitz is such that it’s hard to summon the motivation to even do that. Informational saturation creates constant points of activation within human bodies and minds: overstimulation, negative anticipation and anticipatory grief for futures we can neither control nor individually affect, but which will nonetheless unfold with real consequences.

My advice is the same advice I give myself: notice early. Attend to stress in the body. Remain present with the play of mind and the thoughts that come and go within the basic space of awareness. This isn’t always easy. For me, irritation at the unsolvable can easily tilt into overwhelm. And then I start searching for my chill rather than accepting agitation on its own terms. From there, the urge to escape, fix or seek answers in still more information only intensifies.

A few years ago, while studying Sowa Rigpa, or traditional Tibetan medicine, I wrote a paper about eco-anxiety and what is sometimes called existential OCD (EOCD). It’s a bit of a read, but you can have a look at it here. The psychology may be complex, but the takeaway is simple: human beings are not designed to experience this level of relentless, provocative information.

Existential OCD involves an intense preoccupation with ultimately unanswerable questions, such as the meaning of life, what happens after death, the fate of the universe and so forth. But the same fixation can take hold around more immediate uncertainties whose outcomes are equally impossible to know. Climate change. Unregulated technology. Economic instability. Supply insecurities. Political violence. Pick your poison.

The pattern is familiar. Intrusive thoughts produce anxiety, which creates a compulsive need for answers or reassurance. Unfortunately, there is always another article to read.

I’ve become interested in the possible overlap between EOCD and what psychologist Elaine Aron calls “sensory processing sensitivity,” a trait associated with highly sensitive persons (HSPs)—some 15-20 percent of the population.

Highly sensitive people may be especially susceptible to this cycle. Greater sensitivity can mean empathy and awareness of subtleties, but also increased vulnerability to overstimulation. I’ve sometimes wondered whether a fair number of Western Buddhist practitioners are HSPs who came to dharma partly as a way of contextualizing and regulating intense inner experience.

Whatever the labels, the feedback loop is recognizable. We encounter alarming information, become activated, seek more information to resolve the activation and encounter even more alarming information.

This is where “touch grass” becomes something more than a meme.

Paradoxically, the world we’re frightened for can become part of what steadies us. Time in nature can reduce mental agitation and restore physiological balance. Reconnecting with the natural world, and our inseparability from it, can get us out of our heads while reducing stress hormones like cortisol. Look at water. Listen to waves, birds, wind. Lie on the naked ground.

And I’m going to say something I don’t usually say: have an app. Have an app for breathing; for a body scan or deep relaxation. If the techno-overlords are destroying our sanity and environment without our consent, steal some of that fire back. Use readily available tools to interrupt the machinery of overstimulation.

We can also orient toward what Tibetans call sems pa chen po, or “spacious mind”: an open mental state capable of abiding adversity without being overwhelmed by it. Buddhist psychology scholar Sara Lewis, in her research with Tibetans living in Dharamsala, observed an approach that can initially sound counterintuitive to Western therapeutic ears: when circumstances become difficult, take some of the focus off the self. Contemplate impermanence, emptiness and interconnectedness.

That perspective requires care. For some people, particularly around trauma, jumping immediately to “the self is an illusion” could become another form of dissociation. But starting small—with mindfulness, calm abiding, breathing, sensory orientation—we can experience what arises with less reactivity.

There’s no single method for integrating all of this, and perhaps there doesn’t need to be. When the informational environment becomes unbearable, get simple. Turn off notifications. Put the devices on Do Not Disturb. Go outside. Fire up the Calm app if that’s what works. Use whatever support is available to quiet the noise.

Whether it’s five minutes or an afternoon, giving ourselves a break from the world can be the bravest and kindest way to remain in it.