Saying goodbye to distraction

and hello to intentionality.

It’s the holiday sickness season, and it’s certainly wrapped my family in Christmas paper—five times over.

Photo by Eberhard Grossgasteiger

When I first became a parent and had a child in daycare, I went from getting sick maybe once a year to getting sick several times a season. It was a bitter change—health being something I had always taken for granted. Over six years in, I’ve come to expect runny noses and colds just as much as I expect the snow. I am mindful of getting more sleep, drinking more water and eating well, and I’ve come to appreciate, much like I read in this post, that it’s okay to slow down, curl up, and do less.

So that’s what I’ve been doing: less.

Or maybe it’s less that I’m doing less, and more that I’m doing things intentionally. Instead of letting myself get distracted like a dog let loose on a leash, I’ve been focusing on fewer things during these cold months—like playing the guitar.

There is a story within a story (and even within that story, some more), but in short, many moons ago I moved away from this little town I’m now in, mostly bitter, if I’m being honest. With that move (and bitterness), a lot of myself was left behind—or perhaps taken. I moved to the States, pursuing a life that felt truly whole and shaped so much of who I am today. But in all the busyness, I had forgotten some core parts of myself.

Well, maybe not forgotten. Maybe it’s more like those parts stopped working. For example, the guitar: I played as a teen but quickly abandoned the practice once I moved away. Throughout the years, I’d pick it up and strum the three or four chords I could remember, but it never seemed to stick. My fingers always felt awkward, like learning to type for the first time. So after a few minutes, I’d put my guitar back on its stand where it would collect more dust.

Years later, back in the town of my youth, I picked up the guitar again. This time, it felt natural, almost like it had always been there waiting for me. There was no learning, only playing. It was like riding a bike—everything fell back into place.

I also attribute this fluency to these colder months, when we’re more often kept inside, distractions falling by the wayside, and a new canvas being presented before us—one that asks, “So, now what do you want to do?” In this boredom, and with the constant awareness of the two sets of little eyes on me (my children), I’ve put my phone down (my default go-to whenever I’m bored) and picked up my guitar. And in doing so, my little ones follow suit.

The other day, I taught my six-year-old a few chords on the ukulele, and now I listen to her strum as she sings Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

And in the evenings, when it’s been dark for hours from the early setting sun, we watch the twinkling stars from our patio as we blow our noses. At least in our sickness, there is togetherness.

I suppose what I’m getting at is this:

Slowing down during these colder months has helped me see the value in the quieter moments—the intentional moments, the ones where we aren’t distracted but truly together. It’s something I wouldn’t trade for anything.

And what about you? What will you do this winter?

---

Thank you to Kiran, who inspired much of this post. He’s an old colleague and friend from San Francisco who has always been a huge source of inspiration. I still think fondly of his vinyl listening party nights (such a great idea for an intentional gathering)—something I’d love to start here once I find a better record player than my own. Suggestions, anyone? I also highly recommend subscribing to his newsletter, Creative Fodder.