Too Much Input, Too Little Output

A while back, I noticed a strange kind of heaviness in my work.

Every day, I was learning something new. I had newsletters flooding my inbox, podcasts lined up for my walks, books on my desk, and tweet threads saved to Notion. I wasn’t consuming passively. I was highlighting, annotating, and organizing ideas like a good student.

But here’s the strange part: nothing I learned was showing up in my work.

The to-do list grew, but not with outputs—only options. I wanted to try everything. There was always a better strategy, a smarter framework, a new experiment. One idea led to five more. It felt like progress. But nothing was shipping.

The more I tried to implement, the more distracted I became. And the more distracted I became, the more tempted I was to learn something else.

And then came short-form content. Reels, TikToks, bite-sized carousels, and listicles—easy to consume, hard to act on. They gave me a little burst of inspiration, but no depth. No clarity. No direction. Just more noise.

It wasn’t ignorance holding me back. It was something harder to name—like drowning in good advice, but gasping for clarity.

Why Knowledge Doesn’t Stick

In 1885, the German psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus conducted an experiment on memory. He created a list of nonsense syllables—things like “WID” or “ZOF”—and tried to memorize them. No meaning. Just pure recall.

Then, he tracked how long it took to forget them.

The results were startling. Within hours, most of what he memorized was gone. After a day, even less remained. Within a week, he could barely remember any of it at all.

This became known as the Ebbinghaus Forgetting Curve. And it turns out, it applies just as much to business books and podcasts as it does to nonsense syllables.

We forget 50% of new information within an hour. 70% by the end of the day. Up to 90% after a week—unless we do something with it.

That means most of what we learn disappears unless we apply it.

No matter how many books I read or notes I organized, if I didn’t act on the ideas, they faded. Slowly at first. Then completely.

I wasn’t building a second brain. I was building a graveyard for good ideas.

If more information were the answer, we’d all be billionaires with six-packs. — Derek Sivers

The answer wasn’t to learn more. It was to do more with what I already had. To close the ​gap between knowledge and execution​.

Charlie Munger's Latticework of Theory

In his early days, Charlie Munger wasn’t some ivory-tower intellectual. He was a lawyer, then a builder, then an investor. He didn’t spend decades buried in academic journals. Instead, he read widely—physics, biology, psychology—and connected those lessons to real-life decisions. He didn’t stop at understanding. He made bets. He made mistakes. He adjusted.

Over time, he built what he called a latticework of mental models—a web of ideas drawn from various disciplines. But here's the key: he didn’t just collect those models. He practiced using them. In investing. In building companies. In judging character. In avoiding traps.

Charlie Munger once said, “You’ve got to hang experience on a latticework of theory.” The value wasn’t in having a model. It was in applying it, again and again, until it stuck.

That’s what I was missing. I had the latticework. But no real experience to hang on to it. I was absorbing principles, but not testing them. The result? Ideas that felt wise, but weren’t useful.

This is where smart, ambitious people get stuck. We gather frameworks. We feel proud of our understanding. But understanding without action is just potential energy. It doesn’t move anything.

One Pot vs as Many Pots as Possible

A ceramics teacher walked into the first day of class and gave his students an unexpected assignment. He divided the room in half.

To the left side of the room, he said, “Your grade will depend on producing one perfect pot. It should be flawless in shape, technique, and form.”

To the right side, he said, “Your grade will depend on how many pots you make. Doesn’t matter if they’re good or bad. Just keep producing.”

Over the weeks, the perfectionists agonized over every detail. They planned, sketched, researched glazes, and watched tutorials. They made careful, deliberate attempts—often scrapping them halfway.

Meanwhile, the quantity group got their hands dirty. They shaped lump after lump of clay. Some pots collapsed. Some cracked. Some looked awful. But every time, they got a little better. Their fingers moved with more instinct. They discovered which shapes worked, which textures held, and which mistakes to avoid.

When grading day arrived, something unexpected happened.

The best pots—those with the finest craftsmanship, the most balance and beauty—didn’t come from the perfectionists. They came from the group that had been churning out pots all semester.

Why? Because they weren’t stuck in their heads. They were learning through action. Through feedback. Through rhythm.

They ​got better​ not by learning more, but by doing more.

The same applies beyond the classroom. Seth Godin has published a blog post every day for decades—not because each one is perfect, but because the rhythm keeps him sharp. Peter Levels launched one startup every month for a year—most failed, a few took off, but every single one taught him something new.

They don’t wait for clarity. They create their way into it.

Why We Default to Input

The truth is, input feels safer than output.

You can read in bed. You can listen while walking. You can highlight a quote and feel like you’ve improved. There’s no risk. No friction.

But the output is different. It’s messy, vulnerable, and full of uncertainty. It forces decisions. It exposes gaps. It requires commitment.

That’s why we keep learning long after we’ve learned enough. Because starting is scary. Finishing is scarier. So we stay in the safety of inputs, hoping the next insight will make action easier. But it rarely does.

Instead, it adds pressure. Because the more we know, the more behind we feel for not doing anything with it.

What Helped Me Break the Loop

When you're stuck in the input trap, you don’t need to overhaul everything at once. You just need to ​start small​. The goal isn’t to know more—it’s to do more with what you already know. These five shifts helped me move from information hoarding to meaningful momentum—and they can help you too.

1. Close the knowledge-execution gap

It’s easy to mistake knowing something for having done it. But reading a book on negotiation doesn’t make you a better negotiator—practicing does. Start by picking one idea each week from your notes and applying it directly to your work. Even if it feels basic or awkward. That shift alone can turn passive knowledge into real momentum.

2. Produce before you consume

Don’t begin your day with someone else’s thoughts. Earn your inputs. Create something—write a post, make a decision, outline a project—before consuming anything. It rewires your relationship with content. Inputs stop being an escape and start becoming tools for creation.

3. Design for feedback (and embrace a messy one)

Waiting until things are perfect? That’s a trap. Perfect never comes. Share early. Share rough. Ask for feedback on half-formed ideas. Publish ​before you feel ready​. It might feel uncomfortable, but messy feedback teaches faster than polished silence.

4. Just-in-time vs. just-in-case information

Most of what you consume is “just in case”—something you might need someday. Let that go. Focus on “just in time” information—ideas tied to problems you're facing right now. That makes learning sharper, more relevant, and instantly actionable.

5. Do an information detox regularly

Block out time for an input fast. No new content, no scrolling. Just you, your notes, and your thoughts. Reflect. Apply. At first, it might feel like going hungry. But soon, your mind feels clearer. You think sharper. You act with more intention.

What if You Already Have What You Need?

We live in an era where learning is infinite, but time, energy, and focus are not.

Input is everywhere. But output? That’s on you.

So before you highlight another quote, save another thread, or watch another how-to, pause. Ask yourself:

What’s one thing I already know—but haven’t yet used?

Because the next big thing isn’t in your bookmarks. It’s in the half-written draft you abandoned. The dusty prototype. The awkward first try you never shared.