One of my favorite names for distraction is what a friend used to call “taking a bird walk.”
Think about pigeons walking on a patch of ground. They might have some sort of purpose in mind, but from my perspective, it’s just random motion. Likewise, when my distracted mind takes a bird walk, it wanders around without direction, chasing whatever catches my attention.
That is not always something to avoid. When I’m in research mode, bird-walking in small doses re-energizes me for a big task. It also allows my mind to shift into neutral, inviting ideas and insights.
Distraction becomes a problem when I allow the source of distraction to become my point of focus. Sitting here at my laptop, I’m aware of all sorts of sounds and sights outside my west-facing window. Most of them don’t need my full attention—especially if they are intrusive and annoying. Instead of forcefully shutting out all the stimuli so I can concentrate, I imagine that I’m inside a bubble. It’s nearly transparent and not at all sound-proof, but there’s a protective boundary in place.
Different versions of the “bubble method” have served me well throughout my professional life. In a previous managerial job, I was constantly re-adjusting my attention to a wide range of tasks. Each day began and ended with re-assessing my workflow and making a general plan. But a job featuring multiple deadlines and a lot of collaboration meant interruptions all day, every day. Shifting attention without losing focus was a necessary skill. In retrospect, it was a great way to keep my mind engaged and nimble.
Now, as a freelance writer, I have more control over my workday, but I deal with a different set of distractions. These can be physical, related to the fact that I work in a home “office.” By no means does this workspace resemble a real office, with doors and walls. It’s a perch that accommodates basic needs: well-located power cords, proper light and temperature, and a chair that doesn’t mess with my back too much. In this space, on this 2015 MacBook Pro, I wrote the manuscript for my book, laid out 265 pages, edited, proofed, fretted and celebrated. Logic tells me that during that process, I must have learned at least a little bit about dealing with distractions.
Here’s the advice that I give myself when faced with distractions. They’re inevitable, and when they come my way, I remind myself that it’s their job to compete for my attention. Resisting takes energy, and when there’s a project in the offing, energy wasted brings delay and despair.
So it’s a delicate balance—how to live with distractions, and even like them a little, while maintaining tasks and honoring deadlines. This is not always possible to do. Before the pandemic, I would take refuge at the Eugene Field branch of the Denver Public Library once a week or so. The library’s study room, free to the public, gave me respite on days when the distractions had a fire-hose intensity. Just a couple of hours of sensory deprivation: four bare walls, a desk and a door. Then I would get in my car and thank the library gods for giving me a sense of accomplishment.
Since that option is not open just now, I sit at my perch and vow not to get up until I accomplish something. Moment by moment, I feel the distracting thoughts bombarding me. Bubble, do your job!
