I live in a small coastal town in Portugal, and you’d think that would mean being far away from the mayhem of the world and the everyday clutter that city life brings. Maybe that was true in an earlier decade when the biggest news in this town was about who caught the biggest fish or whether the bakery had fresh pastéis de nata (custard tarts). But the internet changed everything. Now, being a teenager in a small town doesn’t make the world feel distant, rather it makes it feel even closer, and somehow more out of reach.

You see everything, but touch nothing. Every post, every opportunity, every summer program in New York or hackathon in Berlin just reminds you how far you are. There’s something uniquely disorienting about trying to grow up in a quiet place while the whole world screams at you through a screen. There are days when it feels like the walls are closing in. The stress of final exams looms like a storm cloud, thick with formulas, deadlines, and the unrelenting fear of not being enough. Everyone’s studying until 2 a.m., and if you’re not, you start questioning whether you’re even trying.

But it’s not just the grades. It’s everything else too, especially the passive-aggressiveness of social media, the brags disguised as casual posts. Someone just landed an internship at a startup you’ve never heard of, but should probably pretend you know. Another friend is somehow taking six APs, leading five clubs, launching “passion projects,” and still finds time to repost aesthetically-filtered infographics about global crises. The competition is silent but constant. You don’t talk about it, not directly. But you feel it. In the way everyone’s eyes flicker when someone mentions a college acceptance, in the way someone says, “Oh, you’re only taking two science courses this year?” And don’t get me started on the “passion projects.” It’s like we all woke up one day and realized that liking something wasn’t enough. Now, we have to document it, scale it, monetize it, pitch it. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Meanwhile, the world outside isn’t much better. Divisiveness is everywhere. Every headline is a slap in the face. Every scroll a new catastrophe. It’s exhausting. The noise, the outstaging, outvoicing, outrage-per-minute performance of the daily news, sitcoms, talk shows. It never turns off.

So how do I deal?

I go for a run.

I know. Not everyone enjoys running. Some people would rather step on a LEGO piece barefoot than voluntarily break into a jog. Fair enough. Running isn’t a universal cure. But here’s the thing: doing something that takes your whole heart.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed, try making something. Not for a grade, and definitely not for Instagram. Just because it feels good. Read a book and get lost in a world where nobody’s checking their notifications. Build a paperweight shaped like a waffle (why should paperweights be boring?). Start a podcast where you talk about weird facts or your dog’s dreams, or anything that lets you speak freely. Paint. Sew. Carve a coaster. Do Origami. Write the worst poem imaginable on purpose – laugh while doing it.

The point isn’t to be impressive. The point is to reclaim some part of your day from the noise. Focusing on something you can control, even if it’s just glue and glitter. You may think it’s useless, but any experience will add to who you are, and you may call on what you learn in the future. So just build something. Anything. Even if it’s small. Especially if it’s small. And hey, play for the long run. Constructive always beats destructive in the long run.