The Economy of Attention

Last week, I sat at my daughter’s desk in a quiet, warm classroom, surrounded by other weary parents at the end of a long Monday for parent meetings. The soft hum of conversation faded as the teacher posed a deceptively simple question:

How do you manage your media and phone use?

An opening for us to share our thoughts and feelings about screen time as a group, to set shared goals while respecting each other’s needs. Innocent enough, yet it landed in our minds like an interrogation, because I think we all wish we were doing better... A quiet wave of guilt crept in. The room went still. Parents exchanged uneasy glances, some fiddling with their fingers, others staring at the floor. No one had prepared for this question.

More often than not, we are plugged in, our attention splintered, pulled in a thousand directions. An invisible force shapes our days, unnoticed, yet ever-present.

One parent finally spoke: “It’s all about attention, isn’t it?”

I nodded in agreement. Yes. It’s all about attention and intention.

In a world where time, focus, and energy have become commodities for sale, attention is the currency we don’t even realize we’re spending. We are so immersed in this system that we rarely pause to question its toll.

I exchanged a glance with a friend across the room. We didn’t need words to know what the other was thinking:

How do we talk about this without sounding like hypocrites?

Maybe we are. How can we hold both? Does it have to be all or nothing?

We attempt to teach our children presence, connection, and slowness, yet we, too, are tethered to the pull. How do we ask them to resist what we ourselves struggle to escape?

Later that night, my partner and I spoke in hushed tones.“Does it help to tell them what we’re using our phones for?” I asked, thinking of the way our children’s eyes linger on our screens, their curiosity blooming into suspicion. We have to be more honest with ourselves…

They are learning the language of phones and screens, sensing that something important unfolds there something that keeps us from turning toward them. They don’t just see distraction. They see absence. And they understand, perhaps better than we do, that attention, our attention is something they have to vie for.

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I remember a time before this.

Back in the day, if you wanted to talk to a friend, you had to sit together in the same space or I’d pick up the phone to call, wait for the ring. Voicemail. We were not always so available to each other. No text messages, no social media updates, more visceral connection. 

And waiting for a show to come on TV? That was a lesson in patience. We had to wait an entire week for our favorite episodes, no fast-forwarding through commercials, no binging entire season in one sitting. There was something sacred in that waiting. It wasn’t just about entertainment, it was about presence, the art of being in the moment with a focused joy and discomfort.

But our children are growing up in a world that does not wait. A world where so much is immediate, where screens hold the answers before the questions are even fully formed. Worlds upon worlds at our fingertips. They are growing up in an economy of distraction.

And we, parents, adults, are caught between the worlds: the one, like what we were raised in, where attention was given freely, and the one they are inheriting, where attention is siphoned away.

It is easy to believe we must justify our own use of screens, as though explaining makes the reality more palatable. But perhaps the real issue is not how much time we spend on our devices, but rather how little control we have over where our attention goes.

That moment in the classroom was not just about screen time. It was about the slow erosion of focus, the way our modern lives are structured to capture every moment and commodify our gaze.

So we must ask:

How do we reclaim our attention? How do we teach our children that the world is not just a series of notifications, but a place to be fully present in?

Sharing some suggestions at the end of this piece.

For our family, our school provides a kind of container: no screens on school nights, a structure that prioritizes creativity, mindfulness, and deep engagement with the present. It offers a reminder that attention is something to be cultivated, not surrendered.

But this isn’t about rejecting technology altogether. It is about developing the discernment to decide when we are truly present and when we are merely consuming time. It is about turning away from the screen long enough to meet our children’s eyes, to listen wholeheartedly, to dwell in the discomfort and beauty of undistracted presence.

Because they are already noticing.

Our children see how often our faces are lit by the glow of our devices. Our children feel the tug of our divided attention. And if we do not teach them the language of presence, they will grow up believing that fractured, distracted living is normal.

But this way of being is not normal. It is has become commonplace.

And as parents, we have the power and responsibility to restore balance. To teach our children that attention is sacred, that it is a gift, not a resource to be mined and sold.

The pull of our phones is not just about habit. It is about escape.

Phones offer a portal, an easy step away from discomfort, a place where the illusion of control feels possible in a chaotic world. They can provide instant relief from boredom, stress, and uncertainty. But the relief is fleeting, and when the screen dims, we are left with the same restless hunger. Boredom is fertile ground.

If we are not careful, the phone becomes both the escape and the trap. How can we be flexible, recognizing phones as a tool? Allowing ourselves to enjoy technology as part of a well rounded existence but not the center of it.

So we must root ourselves in something deeper; in an economy of presence. In the practice of choosing where our attention lands. How can we encourage healthy habits and lead without judgment? Demonstrating there are positive and healthy ways to use screens, media with balance.

This external, built world will always be louder. But the internal world, lush with stillness, creativity, deep thought is where true abundance lies. If we can teach our children to value that generative space, to resist the commodification of their focus, then perhaps they can build a future where attention is not something to be spent, but a thing to be nurtured and honored.

And perhaps, in doing so, we can remember that sovereignty for ourselves, too.

Create Family Rituals

By setting boundaries around screen time and emphasizing intentional activities, families can reconnect with each other and reduce the influence of screens in their daily lives.

+ Pick one night a week to disconnect from all screens and do something together, like playing a board game or having a themed dinner.

+ Instead of screen time before bed, create rituals for reading, talking about your days, or reading a bedtime story, together.

+ Designate certain parts of the home as “screen free” where everyone is encouraged to engage in face-to-face interaction, like the dining table, living room and bedrooms.

+ Establish a daily or weekly limit for recreational screen time for both parents and kids.

+ No screens during meals or family time.

+ Instead of screen time, spend time outside or do active hobbies together, like hiking, biking, or even going on walks.

+ Choose board games and puzzles that involve cooperation and communication.

+ Creative play like drawing, painting, crafting, or building things together.

+ Involve your kids in meal preparation, cooking dinner or baking together. It’s a great way to spend quality time, teach life skills, and bond.

+ Reading time, either together or individually. Share stories and discuss your favorite parts.

+ Engage in community events, like visiting the library, farmers market, and music and more.

I’d love to hear your thoughts about screen time, parenting and the pull of the digital world as I’m sitting on my computer, staring at a screen, writing to you. Life is a trip and makes very little sense…

In connection, Alyson.