I was watching a movie the other night when my work phone buzzed.
I normally don’t carry it around with me after hours — when the workday is done, it can stay wherever I left it. But I’m winding down several projects right now that need closer attention, so lately I’ve been keeping it nearby. It buzzed. I looked. And by the time I looked back at the screen, I’d missed something. So I picked up the remote, backed up the movie, and watched that part again.
In my attempt to efficiently do two things at once, I’d managed to make the movie longer.
This happens more than I’d like to admit. Sometimes it’s the work phone, sometimes the personal one. A text comes in, a notification appears, something buzzes or flashes, and almost automatically I look. I’ve turned off a lot of notifications over the years — plenty of things don’t deserve immediate access to my attention and I’ve made my peace with that. But some remain because I actually want them there. My kids might need me. A friend might be trying to reach me. Something work-related might genuinely require a response.
There’s also what I’ve started calling my “I’m there for you” syndrome. I want the people I care about to know they can reach me. I like being someone who shows up. The problem is that if I’m always available to wherever the notification wants to take me, I’m not necessarily showing up very well for wherever I already am. And sometimes the person I’m failing to show up for is me.
I decided I wanted to watch that movie. Nobody made me sit down and turn it on. But the moment something else asked for my attention, the choice I’d already made became less important simply because it wasn’t demanding anything from me. Hmmm… Well. That’s worth noticing.
Last week I wrote about claiming ten minutes — the idea that even on the busiest days, small pockets of time still matter if we actually use them. Sit outside. Drink the coffee. Call someone. Play with the dog. Be where you decided to be. But I’ve been thinking since then that claiming the time is only part of it. We also have to claim our attention. And that turns out to be considerably harder.
We’ve gotten good at calling this multitasking. I’m starting to think what I’m actually doing, at least some of the time, is rapidly leaving one thing for another. I wasn’t watching the movie and checking my phone simultaneously — I was watching the movie, then checking the phone, then watching the movie again because I’d missed what happened while I was gone. That’s not the same.
And phones aren’t even the main culprit. I can be having dinner with someone while mentally running through everything I need to finish tomorrow. I can be working while replaying a conversation from yesterday in my head. I can sit outside intending to enjoy a few minutes of fresh air while my brain is already three steps ahead, organizing the rest of the day. Sometimes my body is here and the rest of me is somewhere else entirely.
I’m not interested in turning presence into another impossible standard. Life interrupts. Minds wander. Sometimes the thing pulling our attention genuinely deserves it.
This week carries dates that matter to me — October 4th is the anniversary of the day I met my second husband in 1998, and October 9th holds two memories, our commitment ceremony in 1999 and our legal marriage nine years later. I expect my attention will travel there. I want it to. Remembering isn’t failing to be present. Neither is thinking through a real problem or picking up the phone when someone we love needs us.
I don’t think the question is whether our attention ever leaves what’s in front of us. I think it’s really whether or not we have any say in where it goes.
We already accept this in certain situations. In a movie theater, we silence our phones without much objection. We’ve decided that for the next couple of hours, barring something that genuinely requires us, the outside world can wait. There’s something about that I want to get better at carrying into the rest of my life — not as a rigid rule, but as a more conscious habit.
So I’ve been trying something in my own life.
When I notice my attention has moved, I ask myself two questions: One, “Where did it just go?” And, two, “Do I want it there?”
Sometimes the answer is yes — one of my kids needs me, something actually matters, or it’s October 4th and I find myself thinking about a day twenty-eight years ago when I met someone who changed my life.
That’s still being present. I chose to be there.
But sometimes the answer is no. Sometimes a buzz is just a buzz. Sometimes I’m halfway through a movie I chose to watch, in a room where I chose to be, and that’s where I actually want my attention. So I come back. No guilt, no scorekeeping. I just noticed where I went, decided where I wanted to be, and came back.
Last week I wrote about claiming ten minutes. This week I’ve realized I need to claim something else too — my attention. Because being somewhere and actually being there aren’t always the same thing. And if I’m trying to participate more deliberately in my own life, where I put my attention is part of that choice.
Your Turn
This week, pay attention to your attention. Silence something you don’t need. Turn off a notification. Put the phone somewhere you don’t automatically reach for it. And when your attention wanders anyway — because it will — just ask: where did it go, and do I want it there? If yes, be there. If no, come back.