We didn’t lose our attention spans all at once.
It happened gradually — one notification, one “quick check,” one baby-goat-in-pajamas video at a time. (Yes, it was adorable. No, I did not find out the weather.)
There was a time when waiting in line or sitting in a lobby meant thinking — not scrolling. When the mind wandered, and sometimes wandered into something meaningful.
I miss that version of myself.
I still love reading books — real books — and I still use a highlighter when a sentence hits me right between the eyes. There’s a satisfaction in marking a line that feels true. And one of my quiet joys is pulling those books off the shelf later, flipping through, re-reading what once stopped me in my tracks, and asking:
Why did this matter to me then? Why does it matter now? What changed — the world, or me?
Those moments feel like checking in with past versions of myself.
No algorithm curating — just reflection.
But here’s the honest part: even when I’m holding a book and a highlighter, my phone still calls to me. Phantom buzzes. Reflexive reach. The “just-one-thing” trap.
And suddenly, I realize I’ve traded a deep thought for a quick dopamine hit.
So lately, I’ve been trying to reclaim my mind in small ways:
Leaving my phone in another room when I read
Taking walks without headphones
Letting boredom breathe
Being fully present in conversation
Revisiting the thoughts I once highlighted, instead of chasing new noise
It’s not about rejecting technology — I love it. I need it. Most of us do.
It’s about not letting it run the entire show.
Because attention is the currency of our minds, and I’d like to invest mine with intention — not impulse.
So here’s to slow thoughts, quiet moments, analog margins, yellow highlighters, and the small act of reclaiming focus in a world very determined to steal it.
And if today you catch yourself staring out a window…
letting your mind wander instead of your thumb scroll…
Consider it progress, not pause.
(I’ll check the weather later.)
The Valley Viewpoint 