I spent about ten minutes this morning looking for my car keys while I was actually holding them in my left hand. It’s a ridiculous image, isn’t it? There I was, patting down my pockets, checking the kitchen counter for the third time, and even peering under the sofa cushions, all while my fingers were literally curled around the metal key ring. I’d love to say this was a one-off moment of early-morning fog, but if I’m being honest, it’s a pretty accurate metaphor for how I’ve been living lately. My body is in one place, but my brain is trying to be in five others.
We’ve become obsessed with the idea of “more.” More projects, more tabs open in the browser, more podcasts playing at 1.5x speed while we fold the laundry. We treat our attention like it’s an infinite resource, something we can just slice thinner and thinner until it covers everything we want to do. But the truth is, attention doesn’t work like that. It’s more like a flashlight. When you widen the beam to see everything, the light gets dim. When you focus it on one spot, it’s bright enough to actually see what you’re looking at.
I want to talk about that brightness. I want to talk about the quiet, slightly terrifying, and incredibly rewarding practice of single-tasking. It’s something we’ve mostly forgotten how to do, but I think it might be the only way to actually enjoy the things we’re working on.
The Great Multitasking Lie
For years, I wore my ability to multitask like a badge of honor. I thought it made me efficient. I thought it meant I was high-functioning. In reality, I was just making myself tired. There’s this thing called “context switching cost,” and even though it sounds like something out of a textbook, it’s actually a very visceral feeling. It’s that slight lag in your brain when you move from writing an email to answering a text and then back to the email. You don’t just pick up exactly where you left off; your brain has to re-orient itself. It has to load the “rules” and the “data” for the task you just switched back to.
When you do this fifty times an hour, you aren’t actually working. You’re just vibrating. You’re stuck in this state of perpetual “loading,” and by the end of the day, you feel completely drained even if you haven’t actually finished a single major thing. It’s exhausting to live that way. I’ve realized that the “busy” feeling I used to crave was actually just a symptom of my brain being scattered.
I’ve started trying to catch myself. When I’m eating lunch, I try to just… eat lunch. No scrolling through news headlines, no checking the weather, just tasting the food. It sounds simple, almost patronizingly so, but have you tried it lately? It’s hard. It’s surprisingly difficult to sit there with a sandwich and not look at a screen. But when I do it, I notice that I actually feel full sooner, and I feel more settled afterward. The “switching” has stopped for a moment.
The Itch of the Unseen
Why is it so hard to just do one thing? I think it’s because we’ve become addicted to the “itch.” You know the one. It’s that little spike of curiosity or anxiety that tells you someone might have messaged you, or that there’s a new piece of information waiting for you somewhere else. We’ve conditioned ourselves to respond to every single digital nudge as if it’s a predator in the bushes.
I notice this most when I’m trying to read a book. I’ll get through three pages of really good prose, and suddenly, my hand is reaching for my phone. Why? I wasn’t bored. The book was great. But the “itch” told me that there might be something “fresher” elsewhere. It’s a weird kind of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), but for nothing in particular. Just a fear of not being connected to the stream.
Learning to sit with that itch without scratching it is probably the most important skill I’ve tried to develop this year. It’s uncomfortable. It feels like a physical craving. But if you wait it out—if you just take a breath and look back at the page or the project in front of you—the itch eventually fades. And on the other side of it is a kind of focus that feels like a superpower.
Creating a Fortress for Your Focus
I’ve had to change how my physical space looks to make this work. If my phone is sitting on the desk next to me, I’ve already lost. Even if it’s face down, a part of my brain is dedicated to “not checking the phone.” That’s energy I could be using for something else. Now, when I really need to get into something, the phone goes in a drawer in another room. It feels dramatic, like I’m a teenager being grounded, but the silence it creates is heavy and productive.
- Clear the physical clutter. If I have five notebooks open on my desk, I’m mentally tracking five different trains of thought. One notebook, one pen.
- Close the extra tabs. If I’m writing, I don’t need my banking tab open. I don’t need the tab with the shoes I’m thinking about buying open.
- Use physical cues. Sometimes, putting on a specific pair of “work” headphones (even without music) tells my brain that it’s time to go deep.
The Physicality of Focus
There is something about tangible things that helps us stay present. I’ve noticed that when I plan my day on a piece of paper with a real pen, the plans feel more “real.” They have weight. When I type them into a digital list, they feel ephemeral. They can be deleted, moved, or ignored with a single tap. But there’s a commitment to ink.
I think this is why so many of us are returning to “slow” hobbies. Gardening, sourdough, woodworking, knitting—these things don’t let you multitask. You can’t really knit a complex pattern while scrolling through a social feed. You can’t prune a rose bush while checking your email. These activities force us into a singular lane. They demand that we look at what our hands are doing right now.
And honestly? It’s a relief. There is a profound sense of peace that comes from knowing that, for the next thirty minutes, your only job in the entire world is to get this one piece of wood smooth or this one row of stitches right. It’s a vacation for your nervous system.
Learning to Value Quality Over Velocity
We live in a world that prizes velocity. How fast can you respond? How many posts can you put out? How many meetings can you squeeze into a Tuesday? But velocity is not the same thing as progress. You can go very fast in a circle and end up exactly where you started, just more dizzy.
I’ve started asking myself: “If I only did one thing today, but I did it exceptionally well, would I be happy?” Usually, the answer is yes. If I write one meaningful letter to a friend, or if I solve one stubborn problem at work that’s been nagging me for weeks, that’s a better day than a day where I “cleared” a hundred tiny, meaningless tasks but left the big stuff untouched.
This shift requires a bit of a thick skin, though. When you start doing one thing at a time, you will be slower at the small stuff. You might take longer to reply to a text. You might not be the first person to see a breaking news story. People might even think you’re being “unproductive” because you aren’t constantly visible in the digital space. You have to be okay with that. You have to decide that the depth of your work and the calm of your mind are more important than the speed of your responses.
The Magic of the “Gap”
One of the best things I’ve done is to stop filling the “gaps.” You know those three minutes while the kettle boils? Or the five minutes you’re waiting for a friend at a cafe? Our instinct is to whip out the phone immediately. We use it to kill any moment of stillness or potential boredom.
Lately, I’ve been trying to leave those gaps empty. I just stand there and watch the steam rise from the kettle. I look at the people walking by outside the cafe. It felt awkward at first—I felt like I was “wasting” time. But those little pockets of nothingness are where your brain actually processes things. It’s where your best ideas come from. If you’re always inputting data, you never have any time to synthesize it. Your brain needs the gaps to breathe.
Starting Small
If you’re reading this and feeling like you’re too far gone into the “always-on” lifestyle, don’t worry. I still have days where I’m a total mess. I still have days where I find myself standing in the kitchen with my phone in one hand and a spoon in the other, staring blankly at the fridge and forgetting what I went in there for.
The goal isn’t to become some kind of Zen monk. The goal is just to notice. To notice when you’re “vibrating” instead of working. To notice when you’re scrolling because you’re bored, not because you’re interested. And then, once you notice, just gently bring yourself back to the one thing in front of you.
Pick one task today. Maybe it’s washing the dishes. Maybe it’s writing a report. Whatever it is, try to do it with your whole self. No music, no podcasts, no checking the time. Just do the thing. You might be surprised at how much heavier, and yet how much lighter, that feels.
A Final, Quiet Thought
At the end of the day, our lives are just the sum of what we paid attention to. When I look back on my life, I don’t want to remember a blur of half-finished thoughts and glowing screens. I want to remember the things I actually saw, the conversations I actually heard, and the work I actually put my heart into. It’s a slow process, reclaiming that focus, but it’s probably the most important work we can do. So, take a breath. Put the phone down. Do one thing. And then, once that’s done, maybe do another. But just one.