I was sitting in my favorite chair the other morning, coffee in hand, with every intention of just… sitting. You know that feeling? When you actually give yourself permission to exist for ten minutes before the world starts demanding things? Well, it lasted about forty-five seconds. Before I even realized what I was doing, my left hand was reaching for my phone to check the weather, and my brain was already three steps ahead, wondering if I’d remembered to put the laundry in the dryer the night before.
It’s a strange way to live, isn’t it? This constant, low-grade buzzing in the back of our heads that tells us one thing is never enough. We’ve become experts at the “Open Tab” lifestyle. We’re watching a movie while scrolling through a feed, or we’re having a conversation while mentally drafting an email. We call it multitasking because it sounds like a skill, but honestly? I think it’s just a fancy word for being everywhere and nowhere all at once.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much we’ve lost by giving up on the idea of doing just one thing. There’s a certain kind of quietness that comes with single-tasking that we’ve almost entirely aged out of. And it’s not just about productivity—though that’s usually how people frame it. It’s about the quality of the minutes we’re actually living. If I’m never fully in the room, am I even really there?
The Myth of the Productive Multitasker
We’ve been sold this idea that the more we can juggle, the more successful we are. I used to pride myself on it. I’d have a podcast playing while I worked, three different chat windows open, and a list of chores I was “getting to” in between tasks. I felt busy. I felt important. But at the end of the day, I usually felt like I’d been hit by a truck, and I couldn’t really remember much of what I’d actually done.
The truth is, our brains aren’t wired for it. When we think we’re doing two things at once, what we’re actually doing is rapidly switching between them. It’s like a car constantly stopping and starting in heavy traffic. It’s hard on the engine. It burns through fuel. And eventually, you just want to pull over to the side of the road and quit.
I remember trying to read a book last month—a real, physical book. I got through maybe two pages before I felt this weird itch to check… something. Anything. It wasn’t that the book was boring. It was that my brain had become so used to the “quick hit” of changing stimuli that it didn’t know how to settle into a single groove anymore. That’s a scary realization. When you lose the ability to pay attention to a story you actually enjoy, you know something has gone a bit sideways.
Why We’re So Afraid of the Quiet
There’s a reason we fill every gap with noise. If I’m standing in line at the grocery store and I don’t pull out my phone, I might have to—heaven forbid—look at the people around me or be alone with my own thoughts. And sometimes, those thoughts are loud. They’re the things we haven’t processed yet. The worries, the “what-ifs,” the realization that we’re a little bit lonely or stressed.
Filling the space with multiple tasks is a great way to avoid ourselves. It’s a defense mechanism. If I’m busy, I don’t have to feel. If I’m distracted, I don’t have to wonder if I’m actually happy with the way things are going. But the problem is, when we drown out the bad stuff, we drown out the good stuff too. We miss the way the light hits the trees in the afternoon, or the weirdly funny thing a stranger said, or the actual taste of the dinner we spent an hour cooking.
The Physicality of Focus
I’ve started trying this thing—and look, it’s not easy, I’m not perfect at it—where I try to involve my hands more in what I’m doing. There’s something about the tactile world that demands focus in a way that screens don’t. When you’re chopping vegetables for a soup, you have to pay attention, or you’re going to lose a finger. There’s a rhythm to it. The smell of the onions, the sound of the knife hitting the wood, the weight of the pot.
That kind of focus is almost meditative. It anchors you. I’ve found that the more I lean into these “analog” moments, the more my brain starts to quiet down. It’s like telling your mind, “Hey, we’re just doing this right now. Nothing else matters until the carrots are done.” It sounds small, but it’s a huge relief to give yourself permission to ignore the rest of the world for a bit.
Reclaiming Your Attention (Slowly)
I’m not saying we all need to throw our phones into the sea and move to a cabin—though some days that sounds pretty great. But I do think we can be more intentional about where our focus goes. It’s a muscle, and like any muscle, it gets stronger when you use it and atrophies when you don’t.
I’ve had to set some rules for myself. They aren’t groundbreaking, but they’ve made a difference in how my days feel. If you’re feeling that same sense of being “spread too thin,” maybe some of these will resonate:
- The “One Screen” Rule: If I’m watching a show, the phone stays in the other room. It was hard at first, but now I actually remember what I watched.
- Morning Buffer: No checking anything for the first thirty minutes of the day. Just coffee, maybe the cat, and the window. It sets a completely different tone.
- Unitasking Chores: If I’m washing dishes, I’m just washing dishes. No music, no podcasts. Just the soap and the water. It’s surprisingly peaceful.
- The “Close the Tabs” Ritual: At the end of a work session, I physically close every window on my computer. It’s a mental signal that the “switching” is over.
It’s funny how much we resist these things. We think we’re going to be bored. And yeah, sometimes you are bored for a minute or two. But on the other side of that boredom is usually a really good idea, or a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in weeks. We’ve forgotten that boredom is actually the birthplace of creativity.
The Joy of Being “Inefficient”
One of the hardest things for me to get over was the feeling that single-tasking was “inefficient.” I’d think, “I could be getting so much more done if I just did X and Y at the same time.” And maybe that’s true on paper. Maybe I could save fifteen minutes a day by rushing through everything.
But what am I saving those fifteen minutes for? More rushing? More scrolling? It’s a race to nowhere. When we optimize our lives for efficiency, we often strip away the very things that make life worth living. The “inefficient” parts are usually the best parts. The long conversation that goes nowhere, the walk where you stop to look at every interesting rock, the afternoon spent tinkering with a hobby you’re not even particularly good at.
I’ve started to value the slow way of doing things. I’d rather write one heartfelt letter than send fifty generic emails. I’d rather cook one really good meal than scarf down three mediocre ones while standing over the sink. It’s a shift in perspective from “how much” to “how well.”
Handling the Noise of the Modern World
Let’s be real, though. The world isn’t designed for focus. We’re living in an attention economy, and everyone wants a piece of ours. Every app, every store, every billboard is designed to pull us out of the present moment and into a state of “wanting” or “checking.” It’s an uphill battle.
I’ve found that the only way to win is to stop playing the game by their rules. You don’t have to be available 24/7. You don’t have to know every piece of news the second it breaks. You don’t have to have an opinion on everything. There’s a lot of power in saying, “I’m not focusing on that right now.” It’s not about being uninformed or lazy; it’s about protecting your mental space so you can actually be present for the things that matter to you.
I think we’re all a little bit tired. Tired of the pace, tired of the noise, tired of feeling like we’re constantly falling behind. And the remedy isn’t a new system or a better planner. It’s just… picking one thing. Just one. And doing it until it’s done, or until you’re tired of it, without apologizing for the time it takes.
A Quiet Way Forward
So, here’s my thought for today. Maybe tomorrow morning, or even five minutes from now, just try to do one thing. If you’re drinking tea, just drink the tea. Notice the heat of the mug. Notice the steam. If you’re talking to your partner or a friend, really listen to the tone of their voice, not just the words they’re saying. Don’t worry about the next thing on the list. The list will still be there when you’re finished.
It feels a bit rebellious, doesn’t it? In a world that demands everything, giving your full attention to one small, “unimportant” thing is a quiet act of defiance. It’s a way of saying that your time is yours, and that the moment you’re in is actually worth being in.
I’m still working on it. Some days I’m back to having twelve tabs open and a brain that feels like it’s vibrating. But I’m getting better at catching myself. I’m getting better at putting the phone down and taking a deep breath and remembering that I’m a human being, not a processor. And honestly? The coffee tastes better when you’re actually there to drink it.
We don’t need to do more. We just need to be more “here.” And that’s a journey that starts with the very next thing you do. Just that one thing. Nothing else.