Why You Can’t Stop Looking for Answers

Hey there,

You watch another video. Save another quote. Buy another book. Follow another creator.

You don’t even remember who you followed, but it felt productive at the time.

Not because you’re confused, and not because you don’t care.

But because something still feels off.

And even after you understand the problem, even after the explanation makes sense, even after you nod along thinking “yeah, that’s me”, you keep searching.

If you’ve ever wondered why that is, this newsletter isn’t here to give you the missing answer.

But it will explain why you can’t stop looking for one.

Because what’s happening isn’t ignorance… it’s restlessness.

Most advice assumes that when people keep consuming information, it’s because they’re lost, and that clarity is just “one more video away”.

But we live in a world where information is infinite.

Advice is constant. Insight is instantly available.

And yet, stillness feels uncomfortable.

So we internalize this belief without ever saying it out loud:

If I don’t feel better yet, I must not have the right answer.

I’ll understand something, close the video, and then immediately open another one.

Not because the first one was bad, but because the feeling I wanted already started fading.

This isn’t about ‘self-help culture’ or ‘productivity’.

This is about seeking behavior.

Basically, the act of searching itself.

For a long time, I thought seeking answers was a sign of growth.

And sometimes, it is.

But I’ve started noticing something else:

I’ll understand an idea, really understand it, and instead of sitting with it, I’ll move on to the next explanation.

Not because the first one was wrong, but because the feeling I was chasing had already faded.

And I realized I wasn’t seeking truth. I was seeking relief.

Seeking has become a coping mechanism.

Not for ignorance. For discomfort.

We seek answers to avoid sitting with uncertainty, committing to a direction, feeling bored, feeling incomplete, accepting that change is slow and ordinary.

Consuming insight feels like motion.

It’s like walking really fast on a treadmill and being shocked you’re still in the same room.

There’s a loop that plays out for a lot of us…

You feel unsettled. So you look for an explanation.

You watch a video, hear something that clicks, and for a moment, you feel relief.

Then you go back to doing exactly what you were doing before.

You don’t integrate it. You don’t let it settle.

And eventually, that unsettled feeling comes back.

So you seek again.

Not because the insight was wrong, but because the relief came from clarity, not change.

And clarity is fast, clean, satisfying, and addictive.

The problem is, clarity doesn’t last.

And this is because clarity isn’t transformation.

It’s a feeling, and feelings fade.

So we confuse the temporary relief of understanding with actual progress.

And when the feeling wears off, we assume the answer wasn’t deep enough.

We’re living in a culture that rewards consumption, not integration.

We collect ideas and move on before anything has time to change us.

I’ve got notes saved that I’ve never looked at again.

Highlights I was convinced would “change my life”.

They’re just sitting there, like a museum of good intentions.

And stillness starts to feel wrong, as if we’re falling behind.

I’ve noticed this most clearly when I already know what to do.

When the answer is boring or obvious, like getting enough sleep, or doing less instead of optimizing more.

Those answers don’t create a rush, so my brain goes looking for something new.

This isn’t offering a solution. It’s offering permission.

Permission to stop consuming, to stop searching, to stop assuming you’re behind.

Permission to trust that understanding something once might be enough, and that repeating it, living it, might be where the work actually is.

What if the reason nothing sticks isn’t because the insight wasn’t good, but because it never had a chance to settle?

Some of the most meaningful changes in life feel quiet. Uneventful.

Almost disappointing.

They don’t announce themselves.

Instead, they slowly replace old patterns when we stop overwriting them with new ones.

So if you’ve been asking yourself, “What am I missing?”, I want to offer a different question.

What if you already know enough?

What if the answer you’re looking for isn’t another insight, but finally giving the ones you already have enough room to work?

So maybe tonight, instead of opening another tab or saving another note,
you just let the last idea sit there.

Unfinished. Unoptimized.

And see what happens.

– Scott

P.S. Get more stuff from me (so my wife doesn’t make me go back to a “real” job):

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