Clarity. Focus. Productivity.

For the longest time, much of my life has felt cluttered—mentally disorganized, overwhelmed, and difficult to manage. I could blame it on ADHD or ADD, but in truth, I never took the time to sit down and genuinely consider the root causes of this internal chaos. What decisions have I made about how I live, and more specifically, how I consume information and interpret the events of daily life? As it turns out, those choices were instrumental in creating the mental clusterf%$# my mind became.

Only recently did I begin to rethink how I’ve been living. I’ve started noticing patterns, both within myself and in the world around me. One striking realization emerged as I began exploring what actually works best for me: a concept I encountered in a video about a newly recognized phenomenon that, unfortunately, I can’t cite because I’ve since lost the source. The video had a name for it, but for the sake of this post, I’m calling it "time dilation."

This version of "time dilation" has nothing to do with physics and everything to do with how we’re fragmenting our attention. It’s a consequence of mindless scrolling, endlessly bouncing between apps, and consuming rapid-fire bursts of content: TikToks, YouTube Shorts, Reddit threads, Facebook feeds—all designed to keep us engaged with flashy thumbnails and viral headlines. You sit down to study programming, and next thing you know, you’ve somehow learned how fire ants communicate. That’s what I found myself stuck in for years, and the scariest part is that I didn’t even know it was happening.

This phenomenon is now so embedded in modern society that it actually feels abnormal to disconnect. And I don’t just mean logging out of social media or avoiding technology altogether. I mean taking a deep, intentional look at what caused the fragmentation in the first place—and fixing it. That’s the journey I’ve recently begun, and since doing so, I’ve started to see a dramatic difference in my mental clarity. I’ve even noticed others on social media beginning to talk about the same thing—not because algorithms fed it to me or because my devices eavesdropped on my thoughts, but seemingly by pure synchronicity.

Interestingly, I first saw that video about five months ago. At the time, the idea didn’t stick with me. It wasn’t until more recently, as I struggled through daily distractions—forgetting basic things at the grocery store, even after repeating them in my head multiple times—that I began to reflect. It wasn’t memory loss in the traditional sense. It felt more like sifting through an endless filing cabinet of thoughts, while simultaneously trying to shove more folders into it.

That’s when it hit me: the problem wasn’t just what I was consuming, but how fast I was trying to consume it. I was cramming so much information into my head—educational and mindless alike—without actually allowing time to process any of it. This created a jumbled mental environment, leading me to constantly wing life’s situations and hope for the best.

I’m not talking about dumb decisions versus smart ones. I’m talking about those personal moments when the day ends and you have a conversation with yourself about what you could’ve done better. You remember something you wanted to do but forgot. You plan out an idea, only to change it at the last minute. I was stuck in a cycle of constant "wanting" and "planning" but rarely accomplishing. The solution, as I eventually realized, was deceptively simple: slow down.

My mind had grown accustomed to racing at a million miles per hour. Even my downtime was filled with mindless activities—scrolling social media, zoning out, chasing one novelty after another. Whether I was watching a YouTube video on the newest tech I didn’t need, or getting pulled into obscure niche content, it all contributed to the noise. Even while working, my mind would drift. One minute I’m watching a video about someone pouring glitter into a pickle jar while a soundbite chants “pretty pickles,” and the next I’m cutting a perfect 8oz filet mignon for a customer—only to jump right back to “pretty pickles” when the task is done.

It became clear: the speed and volume of content were overwhelming. I remembered that video about time dilation and started wondering—what if this is what’s affecting me? So I took action. According to the video, the condition was new and came with a straightforward solution: stop mindlessly scrolling. If you must scroll, set a time limit and move on to something else. Don’t binge-watch videos. Instead, set boundaries.

And those techniques do help. But I needed something deeper.

I started to reflect on life before this phenomenon existed. If it’s a new issue, what was life like before? The answer holds the key. Thinking back to a simpler time offered a kind of mental reset. I started remembering how, at age 13, I could fully appreciate music, movies, and events. Back then, each moment felt fresh and meaningful. For years, I thought I’d lost that sense of joy because life had become repetitive. But now I understand it differently: the repetition wasn’t the problem—my method of consuming life was.

I take responsibility for choosing to live this way, but corporations and social media platforms also play a significant role. They’ve normalized overstimulation to the point where not participating feels strange. If you’re not constantly up-to-date with the latest trends, devices, or drama, you’re considered out of the loop. The issue isn’t social media itself or even mindless scrolling. The problem is the aggressive push for constant engagement. It blurs the line between healthy information and what I’d now call a modern plague.

Some call it “brain rot.”

This didn’t just appear out of nowhere. It’s been brewing for decades. Maybe you had a friend whose parents were obsessed with being plugged into the latest gadgets, who rushed to RadioShack for a new Sony TV. Or maybe you knew someone who was always online, long before it was mainstream. This mindset has always existed. What’s changed is how universal it has become.

This digital plague isn’t about the tools; it’s about how little we recognize their impact. It’s about how aggressively content is pushed and how seamlessly it’s woven into the fabric of everyday life. But the good news? If you’re starting to feel this way—you’re not alone. I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until recently. And that realization has brought clarity I hadn’t felt in years.

So here’s my advice: slow down. Reflect. Don’t just unplug—reconnect with what matters. The simplicity of a moment, a song, a memory, even a quiet thought. That’s where the clarity lives. That’s where life begins to feel real again.

You’re not alone. And it’s not too late to reclaim your mind.

Lately, I’ve been journaling more consistently—not as a productivity hack or a wellness trend, but as a grounding tool to recenter my thoughts. Writing by hand feels like an anchor, something tactile in a world of digital noise. It's been helping me reclaim those lost moments and examine where my attention actually wants to go, instead of where it's pulled. That simple act of putting pen to paper slows everything down, and in that stillness, I've found clarity.

And in the spirit of slowing down, I’ve also been wanting to pick up an old iPod Classic—not for nostalgia, but to reclaim a purer listening experience. No notifications. No endless feeds. Just music. Alongside that, I’m considering getting a simple digital or film camera to start capturing moments again. Not for clout or social validation, but to preserve experiences that feel worth remembering. In a strange way, going back feels like the way forward.

So this is me: starting over by slowing down. One entry, one song, one photo at a time.