When Thinking Too Much Stops Living

We spend hours after hours debating how life should be lived—yet miss living it in the first place and move forward.

Yesterday reminded me how much energy is quietly lost in discussions that arrive too late.

During the day, I found myself explaining—yet again—why a document meant for society registration was drafted in a particular way. The points raised were minor, procedural, and did not affect registration in any meaningful way. Still, they demanded revision, justification, and prolonged discussion. By the time signatures were ready to be put down, we were debating things that ideally should have been settled much earlier—or not debated at all.

By evening, the theme repeated itself in a different form. Someone wanted to discuss, at length, how much wealth one should accumulate before retiring from active work. The question itself was not wrong. But it came at a stage when retirement was already near, when most variables were fixed, and when such discussions only added anxiety rather than clarity.

What struck me was not the content of these discussions, but their timing.

We seem to have a habit of postponing decisions and then reopening them when action is imminent. Questions that belong to our twenties are debated in our fifties. Frameworks that should be agreed upon at the start are argued over just before execution. The result is not better decisions, but drained energy.

Sometimes, doing a thing is more important than trying to do it in the best possible way.

People across the world take things too far in the name of correctness and do not realize the value of doing things early. Needless discussions go on endlessly—about what is right, who is right, and how things should be done—often at the cost of actually doing anything.

When asked how much money is enough to retire, I have come to believe that no amount of money ever feels adequate—and yet, any amount is adequate if one has meaningful uses for time. People live happy lives across vastly different economic realities. We all know that happiness has little to do with absolute wealth, yet we continue to chase certainty in an inherently uncertain future.

The same pattern plays out in communities. We come together with a common purpose, elect representatives, define goals—and then slowly exhaust ourselves by questioning every small decision while contributing little movement ourselves. Questioning is not wrong. But questioning everything, especially at the point of action, often becomes a way of avoiding responsibility rather than improving outcomes.

A lion does not perfect its hunting technique before it starts hunting. It learns by doing—through failed attempts and successful ones. Over time, each lion develops its own way, shaped by circumstances, availability, and the amount of risk it is willing to take. It does not pause endlessly to debate the best method.

There is no single right way to live, plan, invest, retire, or organize. We are different people with different values, objectives, and tolerances for risk. What matters is not uniform agreement, but forward movement.

If we keep reopening settled ground, pulling others back at the moment of action, the common goal is never achieved—and everyone loses. End goals are quietly missed while energy is spent on needless discussions.

The lesson, for me at least, is simple:

decide earlier, act when it’s time, and let others move forward too.