when the spell starts to lift
attention and the refusal to be lulled into numbness
I’ve been reading about how short-form content is losing its allure, and I’ve been trying to understand why. Perhaps it’s because in a culture where most of us have fallen into the trap of scrolling and skimming, lingering feels radical. I know one of the reasons I’ve mostly abandoned other platforms is because I’ve been craving something more substantive.
The thought I kept returning to throughout the past year, and especially in the final weeks as it closed, was how strongly I felt compelled to give myself a proper time out. So I stepped back. I wrote, reflected, got out into nature, and listened. The more I did, the more it felt like life was asking me to tune in with greater intention. To listen beneath the noise. To pay closer attention to the things that truly matter.
So I returned to the projects that had been patiently waiting for me, including a book and two other writing projects I’m still tending to. With that came a pull to take stock of the year. What life had asked of me. How I had shown up. Where I had abandoned myself. What I learned. How I grew. All of it required me to look at my life in its totality. And isn’t that what life is always asking of us? As you read this, I wonder if life has been inviting you to do the same, and in what ways.
In a world where our worth often feels intimately tied to our work and what we can produce. No wonder so many of us get pulled into the gravitational field of the doom scroll. The quick dopamine hit of likes and comments creates the illusion of connection while pulling us farther from ourselves. It temporarily fills the space of our discontent. And the more dissonant we feel inside, the more we reach outward to soothe it.
It isn’t only social media vying for our attention. New cycles distort more than they illuminate, where we’re told not to trust what we can plainly see with our own eyes, our attention becomes a commodity to be shaped and steered. Moments of collective outrage or collective grief get flattened into spectacle. Reality becomes distorted. It becomes something negotiated instead of felt. And when we are constantly told how to interpret what is happening in front of us, we begin to forget that our own perception is a form of wisdom. A compass. This is how attention gets hijacked. This is how agency erodes. This is how we become reactive or completely numb to how we feel.
After nearly a year and a half of reclaiming my attention and choosing to be more intentional with where I direct it, something has become clear. Beneath all the noise, we are searching for connection. Not only with each other, but with a part of ourselves that needs deep care, awareness, and space. Yet instead of tending to that inner landscape, we often hand our attention over to apps or technology designed to keep us distracted and disconnected.
What inspires me most is how different life feels when I choose to put pen to page, to be tactile, to be creative, to be present. To turn toward music, books, the work of other artists and creatives who uplift and inspire me. Fellow wanderers and brave beings who stoke the inner flame of curiosity and imagination inside me. I know how simple that sounds. How unglamorous. But every time I return to a blank page, something in me steadies. Ideas have room to flourish. And I can hear my inner voice more clearly.
As I approach my one-year anniversary on this platform, the notion that connection and relationship matter more than reach feels increasingly relevant. Creativity, making art, the practice of writing, all of it gives my attention somewhere real to land. It invites me to slow down, to be more intentional, to make room for what is inherently beautiful and true. But also, gut-wrenching, raw, achey, and alive.
The more I devote myself to writing and this practice of presence, the more I see that living artfully depends on this kind of attention. It asks me to honor the life I’ve been given and the moments that shape it. It asks me to consider how my creative work reflects the relationship I have with myself, my days, and with others. It reminds me that we are always in the act of co-creating. The takeaway feels simple. This shared dance of being human requires our attention. It asks of us to be in relationship with the moments of our lives and what they are trying to reveal to us. It invites us to participate with life in ways that feel more honest, more essential, more awake.
Perhaps what our attention is really asking of us is this: What might open if we stopped moving so fast? If we took time to tend to our inner garden, to be present with ourselves, to actually work with what is rising instead of outrunning it? What could we create or reclaim if we gave ourselves back our own attention? And how might we heal and grow if we became our own loving parents while also making space for the little one inside us who sometimes throws a tantrum when they are scared and just wants to feel safe and seen?
I don’t pretend to know anything for certain. However, my suspicion is that the real work is to get curious about what life wants to teach us and to sit long enough with openness and humility to actually hear the answer. At least that is the story I am making up as I continue to walk this path called life.
© Alana Foy 2025
