Apparently, nobody reads anymore.
“I just don’t have the time,” they say, thumb-deep in an infinite scroll of strangers eating brunch.
They say it like reading requires a sabbatical. Like you need to quit your job, abandon your children, and move to a quiet cabin in the Alps to get through one book a month.
Meanwhile, I’ve read eighty-nine this year. And no, I’m not a librarian, hermit, or member of some mysterious literary cult (though honestly, that sounds peaceful). I just stopped wasting my attention like it’s a free resource.
Because it turns out, and I know this is radical, the “time” everyone claims they don’t have is currently being held hostage by TikTok and Instagram.
The Great Attention Shortage
People talk about attention the way our grandparents talked about money.
There’s never enough. You have to “budget it.” You “can’t afford” to spend it on long books, long thoughts, or long silences.
But attention isn’t scarce. It’s just been badly invested.
We’re out here donating hours of our lives to 15-second videos, and then acting surprised when we can’t focus on Anna Karenina.
You don’t have an attention deficit. You have an attention debt. And the interest rate is your peace.
“I Wish I Could Read Like You”
This one always makes me smile.
Because what they really mean is: “I wish I could focus like you, but I’m too addicted to chaos to stop.”
And that’s fair – I was too. I used to scroll until my eyes buzzed. I used to call that “unwinding,” which is a generous word for brain rot. Then one day, I realised I was spending more time watching other people live than living.
So I started small. Ten minutes before bed, a romance novel instead of a romantic comedy on Netflix. Ten pages instead of ten minutes spent on Instagram.
And slowly, my brain remembered how to sit still. How to imagine. How to build a world instead of being spoon-fed one.
That’s the thing about reading – it’s not just consuming. It’s creating. You meet the author halfway. It’s a partnership, not a performance. Social media gives you noise. Books give you space.
Guess which one your mind is begging for.
The Myth of No Time
Let’s be honest. Everyone has time. They just don’t like where it hides.
Time hides in the twenty minutes between “just one more episode” and “I should go to bed.” In the hour spent rewatching a show you don’t even like. In the half-hour commute where your brain melts to a podcast about nothing.
If you replaced even half of that digital grazing with a few chapters, you’d be shocked at how much life you could fit in.
I’m not special. I’m just bored with boredom.
And reading – real, quiet, slow reading – is the antidote to that hollow, restless scroll.
“But I Can’t Focus Anymore”
Ah yes, the modern tragedy. The shattered attention span.
People say this with pride, like they’ve been diagnosed with some noble disorder of the digital age.
“Oh, I just can’t read anymore – my attention span is gone.”
Gone where, exactly? Did it run away? Did it file for custody after you cheated on it with Instagram?
You trained your brain to flit, and now it flits. That’s not a tragedy; that’s conditioning.
And the good news is, you can retrain it. Start with five pages. Then ten. Then a chapter. Do it again tomorrow. And again.
You’ll feel your attention coming back like muscle memory – stiff at first, but still there. Still yours.
Our Children Are Watching (And Scrolling)
We talk a lot about how we can’t focus anymore – but have you seen a classroom lately?
Kids can’t sit through ten minutes of reading without fidgeting like their brains are buffering. Teachers are competing with YouTube algorithms. Every story must now be “fun,” “fast,” and preferably animated.
Teachers are fighting TikTok with chapter books. And losing.
Every story now has to be “interactive,” “digital,” “gamified” – God forbid a child be alone with their own imagination for five consecutive minutes.
Meanwhile, parents are scrolling beside them, whispering “read more” between Instagram refreshes. We tell our kids to focus while living like we’ve forgotten how.
So read to them. Out loud. Every night. Not because it’s cute or educational, but because it’s revolutionary.
Let them see what stillness looks like – what patience sounds like. Let them hear your voice, not a voiceover. Because if we don’t teach them how to imagine beyond a screen, we’ll raise a generation that can’t dream without charging first.
Book Girl Era
People think reading is some aesthetic hobby for candle-lit introverts with linen sheets and emotional support cats.
Meanwhile, I’m reading in the doctor’s waiting room, sitting on the toilet, during my daughter’s cartoon time. Sometimes with cold coffee, sometimes in a pile of unfolded laundry.
There’s nothing aesthetic about it. It’s messy, portable sanity.
I’m not reading to become more intelligent. I’m reading to remember that my mind belongs to me – not the algorithm.
I don’t need my bookshelf to match my throw pillows. I need my brain to match my values.
Digital Minimalism: The Silent Revolution
When I tell people I practice some kind of digital minimalism, they look at me like I’ve joined a monastery.
But it’s not monkhood. It’s maintenance.
I stopped treating my phone like a second nervous system. I don’t watch the news, I still read about anything that interests me. I deleted half the apps, turned off notifications, and rediscovered what silence sounds like.
And in that silence, I read.
I read books that challenge me, bore me, break me open, heal me.
And when people say, “I wish I had your discipline,” I want to tell them – it’s not discipline. It’s a detox.
Once you clear the noise, your mind naturally craves depth again. Books become oxygen. Screens become smog.
“But Reading Is So Time-Consuming”
Good. Let it consume.
Let something that feeds you actually take time. Everything worthwhile does.
We’ve been tricked into believing that speed equals success – that we should skim, scroll, binge, swipe, and move on.
But books demand something the digital world can’t give: stillness. They make you slow down long enough to feel something real.
Maybe that’s why they scare people. Because stillness exposes the emptiness that scrolling hides.
The Real Flex
We love our modern flexes: productivity, wellness, hustle.
But you know what’s truly rebellious? Sitting still with a story. No notifications. No multitasking. Just one thing, done deeply.
That’s not regression. That’s reclamation.
Every chapter you finish is a quiet protest against the chaos that’s been marketed as normal.
And when you start living like that – deliberately, attentively, fully – the rest of your life starts to sharpen too. Because the truth is, reading doesn’t just change how you spend your time. It changes how you inhabit it.
The Closing Chapter
So no, you don’t need more time. You need less distraction. You don’t need to read faster. You need to stop sprinting through life like it’s a to-do list.
You need to choose boredom over noise, pages over pixels, peace over stimulation. Because at the end of the day, your focus isn’t gone – it’s just waiting for you to look up.
So if you’ve been telling yourself you’ll “get back to reading someday,” make that day today.
Put down your phone. Pick up a story. And remember what it feels like to be present inside your own mind again.
Because here’s the secret: time doesn’t vanish. You give it away.
And I, for one, am done donating mine to the scroll.
Erika Matic writes about modern discipline, digital detox, and the soft rebellion of reclaiming your own attention. She’s currently on book 90 of the year and fully uninterested in whether your Netflix queue feels seen.
Leave a Reply