The tricks our memory and attention play —  and what to do about it.

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I used to embody a much higher vibration. I know; it’s a vague statement and a bit woo to say the least. What I mean is that I used to be more positive, hopeful and, if I’m honest, full of life. And now, I feel lost.

Or is it that I just don’t remember the down times?

The moments when I felt like I do right now: dull and defeated.

I see one cockroach, and I imagine there are millions hiding in the cabinets. I think, “Oh my God, what has my life come to?” Crazy things like this go through my mind all the time.

I ask myself: “In this moment, are all my needs met?”

The answer is yes.

A cockroach is not a life-and-death situation. But for a few seconds, the cockroach won.

My state is determined by what has my attention.

And lately, the cockroach in my head is comparison. I sit and compare the younger me with today’s version, focusing on how much happier that memory of me appears. And I won’t mention just how often I compare the random Instagram creator to who I could have become.

I used to record videos. I remember being enthusiastic, documenting, and speaking from flow. It was effortless, as if I were always happy.

It’s strange that I keep comparing myself to the younger version of me. Today, I’m different. I feel different. And I don’t know her anymore — that girl is now a distant memory.

I wonder — Is she still inside of me? Is there someone even remotely like her within me? Why was she so positive and uplifting? 

Maybe she’d get on my nerves if I met her today.

I realize that’s just my memory of her, most probably a distorted one. My memory is not 100 percent accurate.

The mind keeps the good parts and quietly deletes the rest —  it’s called rosy retrospection. And what surfaces depends on how I feel in the moment. 

When I feel low, my mind doesn’t pull up a balanced memory. It pulls up the one that makes the present look like a fall from somewhere better.

I’m not missing my past self. I’m using her to prove the present isn’t enough.

The memory won’t change. But I can reframe it. That’s a practice in its own right, and I created a short one if you want it.

There was a reason I stopped recording those videos. Many reasons. At that point in time, something didn’t feel right.

So I stopped.

I deleted social media altogether for the next three years and put all my energy into writing and creating, reading, and painting. And that brought me so much joy. In fact, it still brings me joy.

But I have this feeling like I’m missing out. Like I could be making a living as one of those online content creators.

Except I was on that road. I got off it, for good reasons. And this road, the writing, will take just as long as that one would have, maybe longer.

It’s not the work that’s breaking me. It’s the mental pressure, the relentless fear of putting my energy in the wrong place. It’s a fear focused on not getting the outcome I want.

But if I do something just for the outcome, if I don’t enjoy the process, I won’t be fulfilled even when I get it.

And all these thoughts are focused on the future. What if this happens? What if that happens?

All this catastrophizing is playing in the background, and I don’t notice it anymore. It’s affecting my ability to be present and, more importantly, to feel content.

The frightening part isn’t that these thoughts exist. It’s that they can run in the background without me realizing that my attention has been captured.

I think most of us overestimate how stable our attention is. We assume we’re consciously choosing what we think about, right up until we’re pulled toward fear, comparison, or imagined futures.

We take in so much. Opinions, social media, family, the culture we’re in. What we should want. What we should be pursuing. What our life should look like by now.

And then there’s what actually happens. War, inflation, job loss, the loss of a loved one, a promotion, a good year in business, a great trip. Maybe you were sailing across the world and saw a whale for the first time.

There is a range of different experiences this one life has to offer. And where our attention goes in any given moment determines how we experience any of it.

Training your attention doesn’t promise that life won’t happen. You’ll still receive bad news. You’ll still become destabilized by a difficult conversation with a toxic ex, a toxic parent, or some other event.

So there’s something else we need to reach for and develop if we want to live in the world and not be constantly pulled around by it.

The Part That Can Change

We must develop inner stability.

If you’re wondering whether your attention really wanders that much, try this. Sit quietly for five minutes and rest your attention on your breath, or simply keep your attention on an ordinary object in front of you.

The point isn’t to succeed. It’s to discover the actual condition of your mind. You may be surprised by how often your attention drifts. Simply noticing that is the beginning of training your attention.

I’ve realized that meditation isn’t where we live.

It’s where we train. Life is where we apply that training.

Lately, these are the questions I’ve been asking myself:

Can I notice when my attention has been captured during a difficult conversation?

Can I redirect it when anxiety takes over?

Can I stay present while I’m writing instead of worrying about whether it will ever become a business?

Can I notice when I’m reacting automatically instead of responding intentionally?

These aren’t new questions. I’ve been asking them in different ways for nearly ten years. And I realize now that the practice is what supports my ability to answer them.

Without practice, it’s easy to get lost. It’s easy to believe every thought, follow every fear, and let my attention get pulled in a hundred different directions.

I’ve also learned that falling off isn’t failure. Every time I begin again, I strengthen the habit of returning. It’s about becoming someone who notices sooner and returns more often. That’s how inner stability is built.

The Part I Practice

There are a few things I’ve started doing and want to do. You can join me if you’d like.

Daily stillness. I used to do this religiously, every single day, but these past few months have been turbulent, and I admit, I’ve fallen off. So I’m returning to it, along with yoga. I do yoga and then meditate. But you do you.

No phone for the first three hours I’m awake. That’s because I wake up quite early. But if you don’t wake up early and you want to do it for just an hour, be my guest.

A daily walk. I’ve been walking 40 minutes along the beach for the past month, ever since the weather got better. I can’t express how much it has changed my mental state. It’s been a godsend. I want to try two walks a day. We’ll see how that goes.

Letting go of the end goal. I don’t want to focus so much on making a sale or converting this into a living. Just making progress on the writing and the resources, without thinking about the bottom line.

The rest are smaller. Reading an actual book instead of social media. A short to-do list, three to five things that, if I get them done, make me feel like I made progress. Affirmations and a quick list of five things I’m grateful for. 

That’s it. There are a million other things I could add. But if I can just do these consistently, I think I’ll make progress.

None of these habits are really the goal. They’re simply ways of training my attention.

Because attention shapes nearly everything. How we listen. How we relate to people. How we make decisions. How resilient we are. How creative we become. Even how much we suffer.

And the world is constantly competing for it. News. Social media. Notifications. Advertising. Fear. Comparison. Endless stimulation. It has never been easier to have our attention scattered.

I can spend one minute on social media and suddenly find myself comparing my life to someone else’s. Why am I not where they are? Why am I not as successful? 

I forget that I know nothing about their life beyond what they chose to show me. Yet my nervous system reacts as though the comparison is real.

Maybe that’s why this practice feels more relevant now than ever.

Not because life will stop being difficult. It won’t.

Not because meditation solves our problems. It doesn’t.

But because the quality of our attention shapes the quality of our experience. And if attention can be trained, then freedom can be trained too.

So maybe the question isn’t, “How do I become happier?”

Maybe the better question is, “Where has my attention been living?”

Because whatever our attention repeatedly rests on slowly becomes the world we experience.