They say we have between 50,000 and 60,000 thoughts a day. That’s around 40 to 55 a minute—almost one every second. It’s a steady hum in the background: memories, little flashes of insight, half-formed ideas, bits of inner chatter, and all sorts of passing observations. Many of these thoughts are on repeat—rooted in habit, routine, and the quiet worries we carry.
That’s a lot of thoughting. But here’s the thing—not all of that is the same as thinking.
Let’s slow things down with a familiar moment. Picture yourself coming up to a traffic light.
You notice the light is green. That’s a thought. You glance at the road—it’s busy. Another thought. You count a couple of cars ahead. Thought again. No one’s crossing—still a thought. Then your mind starts to work a little harder. You wonder how long it’ll take to get through the lights—maybe four seconds. Now you’re thinking.
Will the light change soon? Not sure—that’s thinking too. If it turns red, will you be late? Probably. By how much? Two minutes. Will that matter? Maybe. And just like that, you’re in full-blown thinking mode—complete with the emotional baggage, worry, and a touch of what I like to call “awfulizing.”
In moments like these, thoughts are like little birds fluttering past—quick, simple, and not asking much from you. They’re just there: clinical, objective, and free from judgement. They require very little energy.
Thinking, on the other hand, is when you start weaving a story out of those birds—wondering where they’re flying, if they’ll land, and what it might all mean. Judgements, feelings, worries… they sneak in quietly and suddenly you’re no longer just observing—you’re interpreting, reacting, worrying, analysing and catastrophising.
Thoughts are the raw material of the mind—gentle nudges, non-judgemental observations, a whisper of insight. They arrive uninvited. You don’t have to work for them, and you don’t get to choose which ones come.
Thinking is what happens when we start engaging with those thoughts. It’s the energy we give them—the weight, the narrative, the emotion. And while thinking can be useful, it’s also draining. It draws on our focus, our attention, our emotional reserves. And let’s be honest—it doesn’t always take us somewhere kind or calm.
Here’s a simple way to tell them apart: a thought is something you have—it’s a noun. Thinking is something you do—it’s a verb.
You can’t stop thoughts from showing up, but you can choose how you meet them. You can notice when you’re sliding into overthinking and gently step back. You can guide your thinking towards something kinder. You can even let a thought drift by without turning it into a whole story.
And that, in its own quiet way, is a kind of freedom.
This is where the ten positive emotions come in—gratitude, hopefulness, joy, love, pride, serenity, amusement, awe, inspiration, and interest. If you can gently reframe your “verb-type” thinking through one of these lenses, you might just find yourself shifting the whole experience. You can’t always control your thoughts—but you can let your thinking work for you.
*: Inspired by Don't Believe Everything You Think by Joseph Nguyen