How do you even catalog attention?
Thank you for being a part of the journey. This is week 188 of The Lindahl Letter publication. A new edition arrives every Friday. This week the topic under consideration for The Lindahl Letter is, “How do you even catalog attention?”
We lost. The battle for attention is over. All the ever flowing content feeds are all full of dispositional sludge. No point of view or core values are embedded in or underpin any of it. A lot more of it than you might expect is just pure AI slop. Excuse the hyperbole, but you really can just dial into whatever social feed you want and the algorithm will kick into action both cataloging and capturing your attention. Some people even try to create new accounts to reset the algorithm only to find out how truly complex the tracking systems have become.
We went from a generation of community organizing in person to false footprints from astroturfing to extreme political bifurcation to our current situation of zone flooding. Make no mistake about it, the zone is very flooded. The fight for your attention is no longer reasoned and based on a set of principled arguments based on gatekeeping and a mix of communities of place, interest, and circumstance. Zone flooding is something that is generally new in the great timeline of history. It’s times like these where even modernity seems a little shaky. We are discovering that zone flooding has started to move beyond those three types of communities (place, interest, and circumstance) as they are described at a more macro level.
We are moving to something entirely different where attention is being captured without any base of civility underpinning. In some ways it's entirely dispositional and the stream of content continues within the context of it being a stream that floods the zone and keeps flowing. A degree of saturation occurs where the end result is what is called exhaustion. People end up at this end state where their cup is full and all of their attention is occupied and ultimately exhausted.
Let’s take a step back from that dire endgame of attention accumulation to consider how we even begin to catalog attention. In the sprawling marketplace of ideas, where every headline vies for a flicker of our focus, the act of cataloging attention has become both a necessity and an enigma. What does it truly mean to catalog attention, and how can we meaningfully measure something so ephemeral and deeply personal? Attention, at its core, is the allocation of cognitive resources like a decision, often unconscious, to prioritize one stimulus over another. Yet, in a digital ecosystem saturated with stimuli (some of them hallucinated and others just pure slop), the mechanisms through which we direct and sustain attention remain shrouded in complexity. Defining attention in a world where focus splinters across multiple devices, notifications, and demands is no small feat.
Cataloging attention requires more than tracking clicks, likes, or time spent on a screen. These metrics are base level indicators, not the essence of what really makes up our focus. True attention delves into intention, emotional resonance, and the depth of engagement. Measuring these qualities, however, feels akin to grasping smoke or maybe fog. Today’s digital platforms have built their empires on data; cataloging our habits, preferences, and, ostensibly, our attention. Algorithms don’t just observe, ultimately they are used to predict and nudge, guiding us down paths designed to maximize “stickiness.” It’s like attention is the metric and the reward. But are they truly cataloging our attention, or merely engaging in a grand scheme for manipulating it? The difference lies in depth. The most valuable forms of attention aren’t the fleeting moments spent doomscrolling or binge-watching; they are moments of immersion, flow, and connection. Maybe like the spark of creativity these things are harder to track but infinitely more meaningful. These are the moments that foster growth, creativity, and human connection within the frameworks of deeper community and interaction.
In an age of distraction, tools for cataloging attention are emerging, falling into two main categories: quantitative trackers and qualitative reflectors. Quantitative tools, such as RescueTime or ScreenTime, quantify how we allocate our minutes and hours, identifying patterns like how often we reach for our phones or how much time we spend on specific apps. While helpful, these tools measure breadth, not depth. On the other hand, qualitative tools such as mindfulness journals, focus timers, and applications like Reflectly or Notion provide a richer lens into how attention feels and where it resonates. They encourage us to notice when we’re fully present and when we’re simply going through the motions. Despite their utility, these tools provoke a critical question: Are we cataloging attention to reclaim it, or simply to quantify its loss?
As we discuss cataloging attention, ethical implications arise. If attention is a resource, it is also a battleground that is increasingly commercialized. Cataloging our attention gives power to those who own the tools, often at the expense of those whose focus is being tracked. Can we create systems of attention cataloging that empower individuals rather than exploit them? This question feels more urgent than ever in an era where attention often seems like the last frontier of personal agency.
Ultimately, the most meaningful catalog of attention is personal. It isn’t a spreadsheet of minutes spent or notifications ignored but a living narrative of where we choose to direct our energy and why. It’s a reflection of our values, passions, and purpose. As we grapple with the noise of modern life, the goal shouldn’t be to catalog attention for its own sake but to understand it in ways that help us focus on what truly matters.
Things to consider this week:
The zone is flooded. We lost the battle for attention.
Clicks and scrolls miss the point. Cataloging attention is not as simple as measuring screen time or counting interactions. Those metrics provide a surface-level understanding, but they fail to capture the core of cognitive engagement.
This is personal. Deeply personal. The ethics of attention capture deserve careful consideration.
What’s next for The Lindahl Letter?
Week 189: How is model memory improving within chat?
Week 190: Quantum resistant encryption
Week 191: Knowledge abounds
Week 192: Open source repositories are going to change
Week 193: All those files abandoned on cloud storage
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