Regaining Our Own Attention

Apr 22, 2026

“When was the last time you went a full hour without being interrupted by something trying to get your attention?”

I want to start with something I think most of us share, even if we don’t talk about it much.

We live in a time where you can be “caught up” on everything in the world and still feel behind in your own life.

It’s amazing that we carry a device designed to interrupt us constantly, and we call it a tool.

They’re supposed to help us, but most of the time they function more like very efficient attention disruptors. That’s a major design flaw.

And I think that’s strange. Not normal. Just familiar.

We’ve built a life where interruption is the default setting. And then we wonder why it feels hard to think clearly.

Decision fatigue in business.
Constant responsiveness.
No uninterrupted thinking time.
Even leisure has become content consumption.

What’s happening

Most mornings, even before coffee, I’ve already lost control of my attention.

There are messages. Email. News. Requests. Notifications. All of it arrives before I’ve even had a chance to decide what I think about anything.

I started noticing something in my own life a few years ago. I run a business. I’m in wine and hospitality. Responsiveness isn’t optional.

If someone needs something, they need it now. If something breaks, it gets fixed now. If a customer is unhappy, you deal with it now.

That’s the job.

But what I’ve noticed is this: if I only live in “now,” I lose the ability to see “next.”

And good decisions usually don’t come from urgency. They come from distance.

I was responsive—but not always centered.

Centered means you still know what deserves your attention before the reaction starts.

The realization

Reactivity wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I went on a retreat.

That’s what got me interested in something older—and honestly, something most of us don’t naturally reach for anymore.

Silence.

Not as escape or enlightenment.

As a tool.

Something you can do every day.

Silence isn’t about removing yourself from life. It’s about noticing what remains when everything else is removed.

You begin to see what you actually think versus what you’re reacting to.
You regain control of your attention.
You become less reactive in business and relationships.
You make better decisions—not just calmer ones.

The journey

I started practicing silence during a time when I was confused, coming off a job that had ended, and honestly looking for help.

So this wasn’t about religion. It was about recovery—of attention.

I went to a Trappist monastery in Lafayette, Oregon. A very austere order. The monks take a vow of silence.

I looked into contemplative living pretty seriously. Mostly because I wanted to see if monasteries were hiring.

Turns out they are—but the benefits package is a little extreme.

I’m not suggesting anyone become a monk.

But in that search, I ended up reading people like Martin Luther King Jr. and Thomas Merton—a Trappist monk and prolific writer on contemplative life.

At first glance, they look like opposites.

King in the middle of pressure, responsibility, urgency.
Merton removed from almost everything loud and immediate.

But the more you read them, the more you see something shared.

Both treated their interior life as non-optional.

A requirement for clarity.

King didn’t step away from responsibility, but he consistently stepped into reflection, prayer, and stillness under extreme pressure.

Merton stepped away from the world not because he rejected it, but because he wanted to see it more clearly.

Different directions externally.
Same direction internally.

Toward clarity.

And what they understood—and what I think we’ve lost—is this:

Without intentional silence, our thinking becomes reactive.

Not deep. Not chosen. Just reactive.

And when everything is reactive, even good decisions start to feel slightly off-center.

What clarity gives you

In real life, it’s not dramatic.

You start noticing what’s yours and what isn’t.
You become less reactive.
You gain a few seconds of space before responding—and those seconds change outcomes.
You make decisions from a more stable place instead of a constantly shifting one.

And over time, that adds up.

Quietly.

The practice

Ten minutes. Ideally in the morning.

No input. No phone. No music. No task. Maybe a notebook.

Just sitting there and noticing what your mind does when nothing is being added to it.

Being alone with your own attention.

At first, it won’t feel peaceful.

It gets louder, not quieter.

Your mind starts surfacing everything it’s been avoiding.

But if you stay with it, something shifts.

Not dramatically.

Just clearer.

Why it matters

Without intentional silence, your thinking doesn’t disappear.

It just gets crowded.

And crowded thinking produces reactive decisions—even if you’re smart and experienced.

That’s just reality.

If I only live in immediacy, I lose perspective.

And without perspective, even good decisions become slightly distorted.

Not dramatically wrong.

Just off-center.

And over time, that matters.

The return of attention

Silence isn’t an escape.

It’s a reset.

A way to remove input long enough for your mind to stop reacting and start revealing what’s already there.

You notice the difference between urgency and importance.
You react less.
You gain space before responding.
You make better decisions, more consistently.

Not perfect decisions.

Just less chaotic ones.

And over time, that compounds.