The Power of the Pause

Where our attention rebellion begins.

Baja California | 2024

Friends,

I've been thinking a lot about attention.

Not just my own fragmented focus (a vulnerability I'm pained and ashamed to admit) but our collective inability to look away from the endless stream of shocking content filling our screens — and our lives.

Despite my carefully constructed guardrails – morning meditations, digital sabbaths, rules for where and when I consume my news – January cracked through my defenses. From apocalyptic fires to executive orders ping-ponging our focus, it feels like society is on the verge of a nervous breakdown — precisely when we need a clear view above the cloudline.

But here’s the thing:

When we're heads-down in fight mode, we forget that flight is even possible.

Last week, listening to Ezra Klein and Chris Hayes discuss “attention capitalism” something clicked. They put words to what I've felt in my bones: we're not just living through a crisis of democracy, climate and inequality – we're living through a crisis of attention. And it may be the most insidious of all.

The smartphone-as-cigarette parallel is more than apt; it’s haunting. (Apparently there was a time when doctors bragged about their preferred brand?!) I'm viscerally aware of where my "pack" is at all times – whether I'm reading a book, running in the redwoods, playing buildzi with my boys. My phone’s presence (or absence) is a phantom limb.

Most poignant are the moments when my boys have to practically (or actually) scream for my attention because I'm lost in a scroll. "People before phones," I heard my friend tell her kids. Easier said than done.

For years there have been warning calls from wise and prophetic voices¹:

• Jenny Odell
  on the urgency of resisting the attention economy

• Johann Hari
  on our stolen focus

• Tristan Harris & Aza Raskin on how social media has hijacked our minds

• Oliver Burkeman
  on how to make the most of our finite lives

But what once felt alarmist is now undeniably true:

• Our attention is being extracted, traded, and sold in nanoseconds

• The more outrageous the content, the faster it spreads

• We're pulled toward what’s loudest—at the expense of what matters

• Our kids are the next frontier; apps are fracking for their attention

Consider this: In China, TikTok delivers science experiments and patriotic content, and cuts users off after 40 minutes to prevent endless scrolling. "They're serving spinach domestically," Tristan Harris told 60 Minutes, "and exporting opium." Equally telling: the most aspirational career for young people in China is to become an astronaut. In the U.S.? A social media influencer.

As a species, we're hardwired with a low tolerance for discomfort. Our devices and their algorithms make this exponentially worse. We're built to chase whatever shiny thing takes us out of our minds, to bounce at the first whiff of unease. But our restlessness – whether from boredom, aversion, or craving – will never end or be sated.

The merchants of attention weaponize this wiring. They've built empires on our fractured focus, reshaping how we think, what we value, and who we become. The acceleration we're experiencing isn't an accident—it's a deliberate assault on our capacity to think, feel, and act on purpose. This isn't a problem we can solve through willpower alone – it will require collective action, regulation, and cultural change.

And yet our personal power lies in plain sight. Every act of resistance begins with our ability to pause, look up and see clearly. The loudest voices may be winning the attention war for now, but they've overlooked something crucial: our power to choose differently.

We need more than an attention rebellion. We need to become the rebellion.

I don't have a masterplan – though I'm raising my hand to join anyone working on one! But I do know this: the leaders we need won’t win through volume or viral reach. They’ll win by being quieter, more authentic and more consequential. Their secret weapon — and ours?

The power of the pause.

In our always-on culture, where frenetic motion has become life's default rhythm, pausing is a radical act. It's excruciatingly hard, wildly counter-cultural, and exactly what we’ll need to start seeing clearly again.

Pausing is the moment between….

waking…..and reaching for the phone

reading a headline…..and clicking share

a habitual reaction…..and a considered response.

It's also that subtle and sacred space we discover in meditation when one breath has ended and the next has yet to begin. It’s in this space, as Viktor Frankl famously noted, where our power and freedom lie.

The power of the pause is that it creates a conscious choice – where to direct our precious, increasingly endangered attention. (If you have little ones in your life, check out the What would Danny Do? series. In our house we now have a frequent refrain: "Remember your Power to Choose!", or “your P2C” for short.)

But amid the beeps and buzzes, alerts and algorithms, it's overwhelming to begin.

While I'm a big proponent of the full-on digital detox, there are much more accessible places to start.

Here's a simple practice that's helped me – I call it the Rule of 3. Next time you feel the urge to check your phone, only allow yourself to check on the third urge, not the first. Notice what arises in the space between. What feelings and stories show up when you don't immediately give in to the siren call of distraction? I've been working at this for years and even when I forget to remember (which is often), this practice has become an indispensable teacher.

I'd love to hear from you: How do you protect your attention? What small acts of rebellion have you found meaningful? What doors will open to us when we reclaim our ability to pause — and with it, our ability to fly?

With fierce hope,

Abby

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Field Notes

Other things on my mind this month….

• Is the M.Div the new MBA?

• Why the “triad of success" (fame, wealth, power) has failed us

• A deep (personal) dive on navigating life's transitions [Podcast]

1. Giving me pause: Is it ironic — or perfectly predictable — that the loudest critics of the attention economy are almost exclusively white men? Even in resistance, old patterns persist.