Một dòng thở nhẹ – Nhật ký Thiền

I don’t run in the outside world.
I’m not hurried, not frantic, not visibly overwhelmed.
From the outside, I probably look calm —
maybe even slow, maybe even lazy.

But no one knows that I am running.
And I am running inside my mind.

I run from morning until night.
From the moment I open my eyes
to the moment I close them.
I run through the smallest worries
and the fears that don’t even exist.

I run through questions with no answers.
Through scenarios that will never happen.
Through fears I don’t fully understand.

I run in silence.
No one hears it.
No one sees it.
No one knows how tired I am.

Sometimes I sit perfectly still,
but my mind is sprinting
as if something is chasing me.

“What if I make a mistake?”
“What if they misunderstand me?”
“What if I’m not good enough?”
“What if something goes wrong tomorrow?”
“What if I’m not loved?”
“What if I’m left behind?”

I don’t want to think like this.
But I don’t know how to stop.

People tell me:

“Don’t think too much.”
“Relax.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
“It’s such a small thing.”

I smile.
Not because I feel better.
But because I know they don’t understand.

If I could “stop thinking,” I would have done it.
If I could “relax,” I would have relaxed.
If I could “not worry,” I would have stopped worrying.

But my mind…
doesn’t listen to me.

Once, I tried sitting still
and thinking about nothing.
Just one minute.
But within ten seconds,
my mind was already running.

Running back to the past.
Running ahead to the future.
Running into things I can’t control.
Running into things I can’t change.

I realized:

I’m not afraid of running.
I’m afraid of the moment
when there is nothing left to think about —
because then I have to face myself.

There are nights I lie in bed, eyes closed,
but my mind wide awake.

I turn over.
I sigh.
I count sheep.
I listen to music.
I try everything.

But the thoughts keep running.
Running in circles.
Running without rest.
Running until I’m more exhausted
than if I had worked all day.

I don’t lose sleep because I’m not tired.
I lose sleep because I can’t stop thinking.

People ask me:

“What are you worried about?”

I want to say:

“Everything.”

But instead, I say:

“I don’t know.”

Because the truth is,
I’m not worried about one specific thing.
I’m worried about… everything and nothing.

My worry has no shape.
It’s just a feeling —
vague, heavy, persistent —
strong enough to keep me running.

One afternoon, I sat in a café watching people pass by.
Everyone looked busy.
Everyone looked rushed.
Everyone looked like they were running in their own way.

I watched them and wondered:

“Is anyone else running inside their mind like I am?”

I don’t know.

But I know one thing:

I don’t run with my legs.
I run with my thoughts.

And sometimes,
running inside your mind
is more exhausting
than running in the real world.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to stop.
I don’t know if I’ll ever learn to be gentle with myself.
I don’t know if I can live without overthinking.

But I know this:

I’m trying.
Little by little.
Breath by breath.

And sometimes,
just having someone understand that
is enough to make me feel
like I don’t have to run alone
inside my own head.