Your Attention Span Is Smaller Than You Think — And It Was Trained That Way

Welcome back to Mind by Fire! 

In a previous issue, I shared mental models for focus — how attention is directed, filtered, and sustained. If you missed it, you can read it [here].

This letter builds on that foundation.

Most people don’t realize how small their attention span has become. Not because they can’t focus — but because attention is constantly being interrupted, redirected, and trained away from whatever is right in front of them.

Ads are built to grab you.
Social media is built to keep you moving.
Notifications exist to pull attention away from whatever you’re doing.

That doesn’t make technology bad. It makes it effective.

Phones are valuable tools. Many of us run businesses from them, stay connected to family through them, and rely on them daily.

The issue isn’t usefulness.
It’s what happens when attention is constantly pulled away — and how quickly that becomes the default.

Brain-Based Insight

I didn’t notice how fractured my attention had become until I started paying attention to what I was doing in the in-between moments.

Sitting at a stoplight.
Waiting on an email.
Eating lunch.

Any pause longer than a few seconds and my hand went to my phone.

Not because I needed anything from it.
Because the pause felt uncomfortable.

I’d pick it up, scroll for a moment, put it down — then pick it up again a few minutes later. Sometimes seconds later. There was no intention behind it. No direction. Just movement.

That’s when it became clear my attention was operating on reflex, not control

From a neuroscience standpoint, this makes sense.

When you have work to do, the brain already knows where attention should go. That signal comes from the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for focus and staying with effort. Left alone, attention naturally settles into the task.

What interferes isn’t lack of ability — it’s constant interruption.

Here’s what’s happening in those moments, step by step:

Focused state: You’re engaged in a task. Attention is intentionally directed toward what you’re doing — reading, working, thinking. This is a top-down state, where the brain is allocating focus based on purpose and goals.

The stimulus: Your phone vibrates, lights up, or makes a sound. This stimulus is not related to your task, but it stands out from the background.

Bottom-up capture: Before you evaluate whether the notification matters, lower-level brain systems process the stimulus first. These systems are designed to detect novelty, movement, and sudden change. Because the signal is unpredictable, it is treated as potentially important and automatically pulls attention toward it. This happens without conscious choice.

The shift: Only after attention has already moved does the thinking brain catch up. At that point, focus has been broken, even if you decide not to engage.

The interruption feels small, but the mechanism is powerful. Attention is redirected not by intention, but by biology.

Notifications, ads, and feeds are designed to capture attention automatically. Each interruption delivers a small dopamine signal — not because the content is valuable, but because it’s unpredictable.

The brain experiences that interruption as relief.

Relief from effort.
Relief from waiting.
Relief from being still.

Over time, the brain learns that the easiest way out of discomfort is distraction. So instead of staying with the moment — whether that moment is work, waiting, or boredom — attention looks for an exit.

That’s how scrolling becomes automatic.
That’s how boredom disappears.
That’s how focus slowly erodes without us realizing it.

This isn’t about being anti-technology. Phones are useful. I rely on mine for work and staying connected.

The problem isn’t the phone.
It’s what happens when attention never gets a break from competing inputs.

When everything is trying to pull you away, focus doesn’t disappear — it just never gets the chance to settle.

Reset

I created a daily intentional reset on my habit tracker.

Nothing dramatic.
Just a boundary.

For the last 30 minutes of each work hour, I don’t touch my phone. That window is there to finish what I’m doing without interruption, without stimulation competing for my attention.

I also started eating lunch without my phone.

No scrolling.
No background noise.
No entertainment filling the space.

Just time to sit, eat, and be still.

At first, boredom showed up. That familiar urge to reach for something. In those moments, the practice isn’t to escape it — it’s to notice it.

To stay with it.
To allow the moment to be what it is.
To pause long enough to choose before the default takes over.

That pause is where control comes back.

Not by force.
Not by restriction.
But by creating space before reflex decides for you.

Reflection

In quiet moments, it’s easy to default to scrolling.

Not because there’s something you’re looking for — but because it takes no effort. It fills space. It avoids boredom. It gives the brain something to do without asking much in return.

Over time, habits built on ease start to shape where attention goes.

That’s how default behavior forms. Not through intention, but through repetition. What starts as convenience slowly becomes automatic.

It feels good to take control of your time.

To scroll because you want to — not because it’s become the reflex response to stillness.

That distinction matters more than we think, because attention doesn’t drift randomly.
It follows what we practice.

Disclaimer: This newsletter is for educational and informational purposes only. It is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment.