Lost in the Infinite Scroll – Till a Small Practice Renewed My Passion for Books

As a child, I consumed books until my eyes grew hazy. Once my exams arrived, I demonstrated the endurance of a monk, studying for lengthy periods without a break. But in lately, I’ve watched that ability for deep concentration dissolve into infinite browsing on my phone. My focus now shrinks like a slug at the tap of a finger. Reading for enjoyment seems less like nourishment and more like a marathon. And for a person who creates content for a living, this is a occupational risk as well as something that made me sad. I wanted to regain that mental elasticity, to stop the brain rot.

So, about a twelve months back, I made a modest vow: every time I came across a term I didn’t know – whether in a book, an piece, or an overheard conversation – I would research it and write it down. Not a thing elaborate, no elegant notebook or fountain pen. Just a ongoing record maintained, amusingly, on my smartphone. Each seven days, I’d spend a few minutes reading the collection back in an attempt to lodge the vocabulary into my recall.

The record now spans almost twenty sheets, and this small habit has been quietly life-changing. The payoff is less about peacocking with obscure adjectives – which, to be honest, can make you sound unbearable – and more about the mental calisthenics of the ritual. Each time I look up and record a word, I feel a slight expansion, as though some neglected part of my brain is flexing again. Even if I never use “phantom” in conversation, the very process of spotting, documenting and revising it breaks the slide into inactive, superficial focus.

Additionally, there's a journalling aspect to it – it functions as something of a journal, a log of where I’ve been reading, what I’ve been thinking about and who I’ve been listening to.

Not that it’s an easy routine to keep up. It is frequently very impractical. If I’m engaged on the subway, I have to pause mid-paragraph, take out my phone and enter “millenarianism” into my Google doc while trying not to bump the person squeezed against me. It can slow my reading to a frustrating speed. (The Kindle, with its built-in dictionary, is much easier). And then there’s the reviewing (which I frequently neglect to do), dutifully browsing through my growing vocabulary collection like I’m studying for a vocabulary test.

Realistically, I incorporate perhaps 5% of these words into my everyday speech. “unreformable” made the cut. “Lugubrious” as well. But the majority of them stay like museum pieces – appreciated and listed but rarely used.

Still, it’s rendered my thinking much sharper. I find myself reaching less often for the same tired selection of adjectives, and more frequently for something precise and strong. Rarely are more satisfying than unearthing the perfect word you were seeking – like finding the missing puzzle piece that locks the picture into position.

At a time when our gadgets drain our attention with merciless efficiency, it feels subversive to use my own as a instrument for deliberate thought. And it has given me back something I feared I’d forfeited – the joy of exercising a mind that, after a long time of slack scrolling, is at last stirring again.