I caught myself the other day. It was a Tuesday, nothing special about it, just one of those gray mornings where the coffee hasn’t quite kicked in yet. I was standing in my kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. It takes, what, maybe three minutes? And yet, before I even realized I was doing it, my hand was in my pocket. My thumb was already swiping, my eyes were scanning headlines I didn’t care about, and my brain was absorbing the frantic energy of a thousand people I’ve never met. I wasn’t even bored yet. I was just… empty for a second. And I couldn’t handle it.
We’ve reached this weird point where we’ve forgotten how to just be where we are. We’re always somewhere else. We’re at dinner, but we’re also on a group chat. We’re watching a movie, but we’re also checking the weather for next weekend. It’s exhausting. And honestly? I think it’s why we’re all so tired, even when we’ve had eight hours of sleep. Our bodies are stationary, but our minds are sprinting across the globe every thirty seconds.
The myth of the productive multi-tasker
For years, I wore my ability to multi-task like a badge of honor. I thought it made me efficient. I’d have twenty tabs open, a podcast playing in one ear, and a half-written email on the screen. I felt like a high-powered engine. But looking back, I wasn’t actually doing anything well. I was just skimming the surface of everything. It’s like trying to read five books at once by reading one sentence from each and then rotating. You don’t actually learn the stories; you just get a headache.
The truth is, our brains aren’t built for that kind of rapid-fire switching. There’s this thing called “attention residue.” Every time you switch from one task to another, a little piece of your focus stays stuck on the previous thing. If you’re jumping back and forth all day, by 3:00 PM, your brain is just a messy pile of leftover thoughts. You’re not productive; you’re just frantic. I’ve realized that doing one thing—just one—until it’s finished is actually a radical act of self-care. It’s quieter. It’s deeper. It feels like breathing again.
The cost of the “Quick Check”
We tell ourselves it only takes a second. “I’ll just check my notifications while the page loads.” But that “second” isn’t free. It breaks the flow. It takes nearly twenty minutes to get back into a state of deep concentration after an interruption. So, if you check your phone every fifteen minutes, you are literally never, ever fully present in your work or your life. That’s a heavy price to pay for seeing a picture of someone’s sourdough bread.
Remembering what it’s like to be bored
Do you remember being a kid in the back of a car before everyone had a screen in their lap? You just… looked out the window. You watched the telephone poles go by. You counted cows. You made up stories in your head. It felt like forever, and yeah, it was boring. But that boredom was the soil that creativity grew in. When you have nothing to consume, your brain starts to produce.
Nowadays, we kill boredom the second it appears. We’ve become terrified of silence. But in doing that, we’re losing our ability to think deeply. We’re losing the chance to have those “aha!” moments that only happen when the mind is allowed to wander without a leash. I started trying to “practice” boredom lately. Just sitting on the porch without a book. Standing in line at the grocery store and just looking at the candy wrappers. It’s uncomfortable at first. You feel twitchy. But then, after a few minutes, things start to feel… still. It’s a nice kind of still.
- Leave the phone in the other room when you eat.
- Go for a walk without a podcast. Just listen to the birds or the traffic.
- Let yourself wait for things without looking for a distraction.
Building a sanctuary for your focus
It’s not enough to just “try harder” to focus. The world is designed to steal your attention. Every app, every website, every notification is engineered by people who are much smarter than us to keep us clicking. You have to build a fortress around your time. For me, that meant changing the physical space I work in. I cleared the clutter. I put a plant in my line of sight. I started keeping a physical notepad next to me so that if a distracting thought pops up, I can write it down and deal with it later, rather than jumping onto a new browser tab immediately.
It also means setting boundaries with people. It’s okay not to reply to a text the second you get it. It really is. Most things aren’t emergencies. We’ve created this culture of “instant availability” that makes us feel like we’re on call 24/7. But you aren’t a first responder (unless you actually are, in which case, thank you). You’re allowed to have hours where the world can’t get to you. That’s where the real work happens. That’s where the real life happens.
The physical side of thinking
I noticed that when I’m stressed and trying to do too many things, my breathing gets shallow. My shoulders creep up toward my ears. Focus isn’t just something that happens in your head; it’s a whole-body experience. If I can’t focus, I usually need to move. Not “go to the gym for an hour” move, but just… stretch. Walk to the mailbox. Drink a glass of water. We treat our bodies like they’re just transport vehicles for our heads, but they’re connected. A tired, stiff body is never going to produce a clear, vibrant thought.
It’s okay to start small
If you try to change everything at once, you’ll give up by Tuesday. I know because I’ve done it. I’ve deleted all my apps, vowed to meditate for an hour a day, and promised to never look at a screen after 6:00 PM. It lasted about twelve hours. The trick, I think, is to find one little pocket of the day that belongs only to you and whatever you’re doing in that moment.
Maybe it’s the first ten minutes of the morning. Maybe it’s your lunch break. For me, it was my morning coffee. I decided that as long as there was coffee in that mug, I wouldn’t look at a screen. I’d just sit. I’d look at the steam. I’d think about the day. It was hard at first—my hand kept reaching for the phone like a reflex—but now? It’s the best part of my day. It’s the only time I feel like I’m actually ahead of the world instead of chasing after it.
We’re all works in progress. The world is loud, and it’s only getting louder. But we don’t have to scream back at it. We can just choose to lower the volume. We can choose to do one thing. One conversation. One page of a book. One meal. It’s not about being “productive” in the way a machine is. It’s about being present in the way a human is meant to be.
Moving toward a slower rhythm
I’m still not great at this. I still catch myself scrolling sometimes. I still find myself with ten tabs open when I should be writing. But I’m getting better at noticing it. And that’s the first step, isn’t it? Noticing when you’ve drifted away. Gently bringing yourself back. It’s like a muscle you have to train. It hurts a bit at first, and you feel weak, but eventually, you start to feel the strength of a sustained thought. You start to remember who you are when you aren’t being pulled in a dozen different directions.
I think we’re all hungry for that depth. We’re tired of the “snackable” content and the “quick bites” of information. We want a full meal. We want to lose ourselves in a project or a conversation without feeling like we’re missing out on something else. The secret is that there is nothing else. There’s just this. Right now. Whatever you’re doing, whoever you’re with. That’s the only thing that’s actually real.
So, maybe next time you’re waiting for the kettle to boil, just wait. Look at the light coming through the window. Listen to the sound of the water starting to hiss. It’s only three minutes. The world will still be there when the tea is ready, I promise. And you might find that you’re a little more ready for the world, too.