As a child, I consumed novels until my vision grew hazy. When my GCSEs came around, I demonstrated the stamina of a monk, revising for hours without a break. But in recent years, I’ve observed that ability for intense focus dissolve into infinite browsing on my phone. My focus now contracts like a snail at the touch of a thumb. Reading for pleasure seems less like nourishment and more like endurance training. And for someone who creates content for a profession, this is a occupational risk as well as something that made me sad. I aimed to regain that cognitive flexibility, to stop the mental decline.
Therefore, about a year ago, I made a modest promise: every time I encountered a word I didn’t understand – whether in a book, an piece, or an casual discussion – I would research it and record it. Nothing fancy, no elegant notebook or stylish pen. Just a running list maintained, amusingly, on my phone. Each week, I’d spend a few minutes reviewing the list back in an attempt to lodge the word into my memory.
The list now covers almost 20 pages, and this small ritual has been quietly transformative. The benefit is less about showing off with obscure descriptors – which, to be honest, can make you sound insufferable – and more about the mental calisthenics of the ritual. Each time I search for and record a term, I feel a slight expansion, as though some neglected part of my brain is stirring again. Even if I never deploy “phantom” in conversation, the very act of noticing, documenting and reviewing it interrupts the slide into passive, semi-skimmed focus.
Additionally, there's a diary-keeping aspect to it – it acts as something of a diary, a record of where I’ve been engaging, what I’ve been pondering and who I’ve been listening to.
Not that it’s an easy habit to maintain. It is frequently very inconvenient. If I’m reading on the subway, I have to pause mid-paragraph, pull out my device and type “millennialism” into my digital document while trying not to elbow the stranger pressed against me. It can slow my reading to a frustrating crawl. (The e-reader, with its integrated dictionary, is much easier). And then there’s the revising (which I frequently forget to do), dutifully browsing through my expanding vocabulary collection like I’m preparing for a word test.
Realistically, I incorporate perhaps five percent of these terms into my daily conversation. “Incorrigible” made the cut. “Lugubrious” too. But the majority of them remain like exhibits – appreciated and listed but rarely used.
Nevertheless, it’s made my mind much sharper. I notice I'm turning less often for the same tired handful of descriptors, and more frequently for something precise and muscular. Few things are more gratifying than unearthing the exact word you were searching for – like finding the missing component that snaps the image into place.
In an era when our gadgets drain our attention with relentless efficiency, it feels rebellious to use my own as a instrument for slow thinking. And it has restored to me something I feared I’d lost – the pleasure of exercising a intellect that, after a long time of slack scrolling, is finally waking up again.
An educator and robotics enthusiast passionate about integrating AI into learning environments to inspire students.
