Your mind is very good at its job.
It identifies problems before they become crises. It models consequences several steps ahead. It holds multiple variables simultaneously and runs them against each other to find the failure points. This capacity is the reason for everything you have built. It is not separable from the results — it is the mechanism that produced them.
The same mechanism, applied to the inner life, produces a specific kind of suffering that less analytical people do not experience in the same way. The threat-assessment capacity that protects the enterprise also threat-assesses the relationship. The consequence-modelling that serves the strategy also models the worst-case version of every personal situation. The pattern-recognition that finds the hidden variable in the business plan also finds — or constructs — hidden variables in the interactions of ordinary days.
This is not a character flaw. It is an instrument being used outside its domain of application.
The Yoga Sutras' concept of Vitarka — discursive thought, the mind's tendency to reason, analyse, and construct — is identified as one of the primary obstacles to the direct perception that genuine understanding requires. Not because thinking is wrong — the Sutras do not dismiss analytical intelligence. But because the thinking mind, when applied to questions that thinking cannot resolve, produces not answers but increasingly elaborate constructions that substitute for the direct experience they are trying to describe.
Nassim Taleb's concept of the Narrative Fallacy — the mind's tendency to construct explanatory stories that create the illusion of understanding from what is fundamentally uncertain — applies with particular force to the analytical person's relationship with their own inner life. The high-intelligence person who turns their analytical capacity on their emotional experience does not thereby understand their emotional experience better. They construct a more sophisticated narrative about it — which is not the same thing and which, by providing the satisfaction of apparent understanding, can actually prevent the genuine encounter with what is present.
The practical consequence: the most intelligent people often have the most difficulty with the practices — meditation, contemplation, genuine rest — that require the analytical mind to be set aside rather than applied. The mind that is trained to solve problems experiences the instruction to stop solving as either a threat or a failure. It keeps solving. It solves the meditation. It analyses the contemplation. It turns the rest into a performance of rest that is assessed for its efficiency.
The intelligence is not the problem. The problem is the absence of anything that can hold the intelligence in its appropriate domain and provide something other than analysis for the questions that analysis cannot answer.
The traditions that address this — Zen, Vedanta, the Stoic practice of Marcus Aurelius — do not ask for the suppression of intelligence. They ask for its appropriate placement: fully deployed where it can be useful, genuinely set down where it cannot.