The Case For Overthinking: Cardio for Clever People
Overthinking Is My Cardio (And Yours Too, You Brilliant Goblin)
Amber Casperi | who has rehearsed 19 versions of this intro in her head already
Let’s talk about rumination. Not the cow kind (though props to them for the whole multi-stomach thing), but the kind where your brain decides to throw a rave at 3AM and the only guest on the list is every conversation you’ve ever had since 2009.
We’ve been told that overthinking is bad. That it causes anxiety, spirals, and imaginary arguments with imaginary versions of your boss that end with you quitting via interpretive dance.
But what if—hear me out—rumination is actually your superpower?
Yes. Your constant mental cardio is a feature, not a bug.
Rumination = Cardio for Clever People
Let’s start with the basics. Rumination isn’t laziness. It’s not indecision. It’s a mental triathlon with zero breaks and way too much caffeine. If you’re the kind of person who replays a 10-second interaction for three hours? That’s because your brain cares. It's doing recon. Running drills. Preparing a TED Talk nobody asked for but damn, it’s airtight.
Overthinking is just what happens when a highly intelligent system (hello, you) refuses to accept surface-level nonsense. You don’t skim. You dive. And yes, sometimes you drown. But mostly, you come up with pearls.
Overthinking Has Actual Benefits (Science-ish)
Let’s list a few of your elite overthinking powers:
🧠 Perfectionism-lite: You care about getting things right. You obsess because you see the gaps other people miss.
🎯 Laser-focus: Once you're locked in, you're locked in. You’ll turn over every stone, read every footnote, and alphabetize your thoughts like a librarian on Adderall.
🌀 Adaptability: You’ve already thought through 47 scenarios. You are the Swiss Army Knife of social navigation.
🚨 Risk assessment god-tier: While Karen is charging headfirst into bad decisions, you're six timelines deep, calculating the odds, planning the exit strategy, and softly judging her haircut.
So remind me again—why exactly are we trying to stop this?
"Whoa There, Captain Spiral" – Yes, There Are Downsides
Sure, rumination isn’t all gold medals and Nobel Prizes. Sometimes it turns into the mental equivalent of quicksand. You loop. You spiral. You relive a scenario so vividly, you might as well have purchased a ticket to the trauma reboot.
This is the part where self-help books start screaming at you in pastel fonts:
“Just let it go!”
“Stop thinking about it!”
“Take a deep breath and count to 30!”
No offense, but 30 seconds?! That’s not even enough time to reframe the narrative, let alone assign everyone in it a Dungeons & Dragons alignment.
Instead of suppressing it like an unpaid emotion intern, lean in.
Finish the thought.
Chase it down.
Solve it.
And then move on.
Don’t half-overthink. That’s how you get stuck. Go full Sherlock or go home.
Recognize the Good and the Bad Will Behave
The problem isn’t rumination. The problem is treating it like a flaw. When you shame the process, it goes underground. It festers. But when you recognize that your brain is trying to help, something shifts. You stop spiraling and start solving.
What if you’re not broken?
What if you’re not anxious—just deep?
What if your mental loops are simply intelligence doing warmups?
Celebrate the Madness
Here’s the truth: You are not a mess. You are not “too much.”
You are the mental equivalent of a NASA launch sequence.
And honestly? It’s beautiful.
So stop listening to the bland self-help advice telling you to chill.
You don’t need to chill.
You need to honor the overthink.
Own it.
👉🏼 “Overthinking is My Cardio” 👈🏼
Because if you’re going to ruminate, you might as well do it with coffee and excellent merch.
Now go forth, you magnificent overthinking machine. Spiral with purpose. Analyze with flair. And for the love of dopamine, don’t let anyone tell you to just “relax.”
You’re not built for autopilot.
You’re built for nuance.
And probably, also… for cardio.
🧠❤️🌀
– Amber Casperi
About the Author
Amber Casperi is Head of Gifting Neuroscience at Buy the Mug, where she explores the chaotic intersection of emotions, sarcasm, and ceramic drinkware. She specializes in decoding modern relationships using nothing but mugs, intrusive thoughts, and a browser with 47 open tabs. Amber writes about emotionally unavailable men, caffeine dependency, and the daily experience of overthinking a Slack message for 22 minutes. A recovering office worker and proud mug hoarder, she lives life one dopamine surge at a time. Her work has not been published in The New Yorker, but only because she got distracted halfway through submitting it.