At 19:04 your phone goes off. You look: a newsletter you don't remember signing up for.

At 19:06 you're back on the page. You read the same line again, because you no longer know where you left off.

At 19:11 someone sends a link. You open it in a new tab, because you're still busy. The tab stays open until you restart your computer.

At 19:23 your phone buzzes again. This time it's work. You reply briefly, because that's faster than finding out whether it's really urgent.

That's not how it goes wrong all at once. It goes in half-minute pieces. Each piece feels harmless: just checking, just replying, just looking something up. What you lose is the thread. You have to keep figuring out what you were doing.

Interruptions don't always feel unpleasant. They fill an awkward silence, give an excuse not to think for a moment and make the transition between two tasks smoother. The cost only comes later: your attention grows flatter, without you really noticing.

Stepping away doesn't have to be a radical step. Putting the phone in a drawer and going offline for a weekend is possible, but small boundaries work better, because they don't ask you to become a different person.

During a meal it lies out of reach. Turn off notifications that ask nothing of you. Leave it in your pocket during a walk instead of in your hand. At moments like that, the automatic movement briefly yields nothing.

After a while you notice what comes back. A conversation lasts longer, a walk gains details. An idea stays put for a moment without being interrupted right away by something that seems more important.

The gain is the quality of the attention you can give again to yourself, to others and to your surroundings.