Reclaiming Attention, Rest, and Agency in an Overstimulated World

How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy

Jenny Odell (Read 2026)

Some books seem to arrive at exactly the right moment.

How to Do Nothing had been sitting on my to-read list for several years, and when I finally picked it up, it somehow felt even more relevant than when it was first published. If anything, our lives have only become more connected, more distracted, and more fragmented since then.

The title can also be a little misleading. At first glance, it sounds like a book about productivity or taking a break from work. It isn't really about either of those things. Jenny Odell, who writes from the perspective of an artist and professor, is asking a much bigger question.

Who gets our attention, and what happens when we stop treating it like something that is endlessly available?

As I read, I found myself thinking about conversations I've had with clients for years. Attention shapes so much of our daily lives. It influences what we notice, what we remember, how we relate to other people, and even how connected we feel to ourselves. One of the things I appreciated most about the book was that it isn't written like a typical self-help book. It doesn't promise a digital detox or offer ten easy steps to becoming more mindful. Instead, it invites the reader to slow down and notice what has gradually become normal. Notifications, endless scrolling, constant updates, and the feeling that we should always be available can start to seem inevitable simply because they're everywhere. Odell gently challenges that assumption and asks us to imagine another way of relating to the world.

That invitation kept bringing me back to a distinction I often make in therapy between restorative rest and distracted rest.

Those two experiences can look similar from the outside, but they often feel very different in our bodies.

Distracted rest is the kind of "break" where we're technically not working, but our attention is still being pulled in a dozen different directions. We scroll social media for half an hour. We watch television while answering emails. We bounce between tabs or keep refreshing the news because it feels easier than sitting with whatever we're feeling. There's nothing inherently wrong with those activities, and I certainly find myself doing them too, but they don't always leave me feeling rested. Sometimes I walk away feeling even more depleted than when I started.

Restorative rest feels different. For me, it often looks like spending time outside, reading slowly, making something with my hands, sitting on the porch with a cup of tea, or having an unhurried conversation with someone I care about. It's less about the activity itself and more about what happens to my nervous system while I'm doing it. Instead of pulling my attention farther away from myself, it helps me come back.

I don't think Odell would describe it quite that way because she isn't writing from a clinical perspective, but that was one of the strongest connections I made while reading. Again and again, she points toward practices that return us to our immediate surroundings, our senses, and our communities. Rather than encouraging escape, she's inviting us to become more fully present with the world that's already here. (Mindfulness coming up again!)

As I sat with those ideas, another thought kept coming up for me. We sometimes talk about protecting our energy, and perhaps we also need to think about protecting our attention. The two aren't exactly the same. Attention is where our energy flows. When it is constantly being redirected toward notifications, outrage, advertisements, or the next thing asking for us, there isn't always much left for creativity, relationships, reflection, or simply noticing our own lives as they're unfolding.

That doesn't mean we have complete control over our attention. We don't. Our environments shape us, technology shapes us, and larger systems shape us too. But I appreciated that Odell leaves room for agency. Even within those realities, we still make countless small decisions every day about where our attention lands. Those choices may seem insignificant, but over time they shape the kind of life we're actually living.

The Artist's Lens

One of the reasons this book stayed with me is because it doesn't approach these ideas from psychology or neuroscience. Odell writes as an artist, and I think that changes the kinds of questions she asks. Rather than asking how we become more productive or how we optimize our lives, she's interested in observation, place, creativity, ecology, and the communities we belong to. Reading the book felt less like following an argument and more like wandering through a museum or taking a long walk with someone who notices details you might otherwise miss. I need this in my reflections of systems, a point of view outside my own to challenge me.

I'll admit there were moments where the book wandered a little more than I wanted it to. It could probably have been shorter. There were sections where I found myself wishing she would get to the point a bit sooner. But by the time I finished, I also wondered if that wandering was part of what she was inviting the reader to experience. (My guess is that it may be)

We live in a culture that encourages us to move quickly from one thing to the next. Maybe part of reclaiming our attention is allowing ourselves to linger with an idea instead of immediately searching for the next one.

That felt like a worthwhile reminder.

It also reminded me how often creativity and play become secondary in adulthood. Art is treated as something extra, something we get to once all the important work is finished. Yet throughout the book, Odell quietly argues that paying close attention is itself a creative act. Whether we're listening to birds, sketching, gardening, watching the light change outside a window, or simply noticing our surroundings, we're practicing a different way of being in relationship with the world.

As someone who spends a lot of time thinking about stories, identity, and meaning-making, I found that perspective refreshing and helpful. I often need an outside stimulus to help me just SLOW DOWN.

Where This Shows Up in Therapy

As I was reading, I kept thinking about how often attention comes up in the therapy room, even when clients aren't talking about it directly.

Someone comes in feeling burned out, but when we begin exploring what their days actually look like, we notice they're constantly responding to messages, checking emails, switching between tasks, or feeling pulled toward whatever demands their attention next. Someone else tells me they can't seem to rest, but when we unpack what "rest" has looked like lately, it often involves hours of scrolling or binge-watching while still feeling mentally exhausted afterward.

The issue isn't that these activities are inherently bad. I don't think the goal is to shame ourselves every time we reach for our phones. I certainly don't want to live that way.

Instead, I think the invitation is to become curious.

• How does this leave me feeling?

• Is this giving me what I actually need right now?

• Is this helping my nervous system settle, or is it simply filling space?

Those are very different questions than asking whether something is "good" or "bad." They're also questions I find much more useful.

In therapy, we spend a lot of time talking about permission. Permission to slow down. Permission to disappoint the endless demands of productivity. Permission to be outside without trying to optimize the walk into exercise or a podcast or a learning opportunity. Permission to notice beauty without needing it to become content.

That may sound small, but I don't think it is.

Protecting our attention is one of the ways we protect our capacity for reflection, creativity, connection, and healing.

Holding the Book Lightly

Like most books that stay with me, I didn't agree with every part of How to Do Nothing.

I appreciated its central argument, but there were moments where the writing became quite abstract. At times I found myself wishing for more concrete examples or practical applications. Readers looking for a straightforward self-help book may find themselves frustrated.

At the same time, I think asking the book to become more practical might actually miss its purpose. It isn't trying to give us another productivity system. It's inviting us to question why we assume every moment needs to be productive in the first place. That feels like a much bigger conversation.

A Note on Privilege and "Opting Out"

One tension I found myself holding while reading How to Do Nothing is that reclaiming our attention isn't equally available to everyone.

It's easy to say, "Put your phone away. Go for a walk. Disconnect."

Sometimes that really is exactly what our nervous systems need. But it also assumes we have the ability to step away.

For many people, constant connection isn't simply a distraction. It's tied to work, caregiving, community, or safety. Someone may be monitoring policy changes because they affect their immigration status. Another person may need to stay informed because legislation directly impacts their healthcare, gender identity, disability, or access to resources. Someone else may rely on social media to find clients, organize mutual aid, or build community that doesn't exist where they live.

Rest, privacy, and spaciousness aren't distributed equally. Neither is the ability to disconnect. That doesn't make Odell's argument less valuable. If anything, it invites a slightly different question. Maybe the goal isn't to opt out of the attention economy entirely. Maybe it's to become more intentional about our relationship with it.

For one person that might mean taking a long walk without their phone. For someone else it might mean checking the news once a day instead of every twenty minutes. For another it could mean choosing one trusted source rather than endlessly refreshing headlines. Or maybe it means recognizing that paying attention to the world and paying attention to yourself aren't competing values. Both matter.

I don't think reclaiming our attention is about disappearing from the world.

I think it's about participating in it more intentionally.

Some Questions I'm Still Sitting With

One thing I've started appreciating about reading is that I don't always need to finish a book with answers. Sometimes I finish with better questions.

This book left me thinking about questions like:

• What actually restores me?

• When I pick up my phone, what am I hoping to find?

• How often do I confuse distraction with rest?

• What parts of my life deserve more of my attention than they're currently getting?

• When do I feel most present?

• What kinds of activities leave me feeling more connected to myself rather than further away?

I don't think there's one right answer to any of those.

But I suspect simply asking them changes something.

Digging Deeper

If this conversation resonated with you, you might also enjoy exploring:

• Mindfulness – Different ways of practicing mindfulness, especially for people who find traditional approaches difficult.

• Mindfulness, Dopamine, and Reclaiming Attention in an Age of Clickbait – My reflections on Jud Brewer and Sean Witty's presentation about doomscrolling, information overload, and our relationship with the news.

• ADHD and the Mindful Path – How mindfulness can be adapted to work with ADHD rather than against it.

• Internal Family Systems (IFS) – Learning to approach your inner world with curiosity instead of criticism.

• Narrative Therapy – Exploring the stories we tell ourselves and how they shape our lives.

• Burnout & Stress – Understanding the difference between surviving and truly recovering.

• Anxiety & Panic – How uncertainty, nervous system activation, and attention often reinforce one another.

• Identity Work – Reconnecting with the parts of yourself that can get lost in constant busyness.

• Contact Me – If you'd like to explore any of these themes together in therapy, I'd be happy to connect.