Stop and Smell the Roses: The Case for Getting Distracted

As someone who meticulously plans every hour of every day—including weekends—I have, without realizing it, forgotten how to be bored. My phone, a device engineered to hijack my attention at all times, doesn’t help either.

This constant scheduling, this attempt to maximize every waking moment, has a consequence: I’ve eliminated randomness. I’ve insulated myself from distraction. And in doing so, I’ve tried—foolishly—to control reality itself.

Some of this behavior is a byproduct of living in New York. The city thrives on overcommitment and hustle, rewarding those who optimize, juggle, and squeeze more out of every minute. And sure, some of it is psychological—but let’s leave that to the professionals. Lately, I’ve started to see this mode of living not as efficient, but as limiting.

Because here’s the paradox: distractions, interruptions, and even boredom are not the enemies of productivity. They are essential to experiencing life as it really is—messy, unpredictable, and beautifully unplanned.

Why We Need Distractions

In Meditations for Mortals, Oliver Burkeman challenges the idea that eliminating distractions makes us more present. “Going through life with a rigid commitment to the elimination of interruption and distraction,” he writes, “might seem like a way to stay more absorbed in what’s happening. Yet in fact, it pulls you out of it, by undermining your capacity to respond to reality as it actually unfolds.”

We tend to think of focus as something we can engineer—turning on Do Not Disturb, blocking off calendar time for Deep Work, keeping our heads down. But deep focus is not our default state. Evolution didn’t design us to sit motionless, locked onto a single task for hours. If early humans had been able to tune out their environment completely, they wouldn’t have survived.

“The prehistoric human who could fix her attention firmly on one thing, and leave it there for hours on end, so that nothing could disturb her,” Burkeman points out, “would soon have been devoured by a saber-tooth tiger.”

In other words, distraction isn’t a flaw—it’s a feature.

Zen teacher John Tarrant takes this further: “Getting lost and distracted in this way is what life is for.” If anything, modern distractions—social media, algorithmic content—aren’t harmful because they break our attention. They’re harmful because they hold it, trapping us in infinite scrolls and endless autoplay, making us unavailable for the natural, productive kind of distraction: the unexpected conversation, the wandering thought, the spontaneous detour.

Leaning Into It

Recently, I’ve challenged myself to walk unplugged—without my AirPods, without a podcast, without a curated soundtrack. At first, it felt unnatural, like something was missing. But then I started noticing more. The shifting light on the buildings. The snippets of conversation drifting from cafés. The rhythm of the city. I’ve found myself smiling more as I take it in, which is nice.

This small change reminds me of something important: distraction isn’t always a detour from life—it is life. In this way, distractions are just like our problems; they aren’t something to avoid or prevent, but to discover and accept.

So what should we do when we find ourselves interrupted? Instead of resisting, Burkeman suggests, lean into it. Give the distraction your full attention. Let go of the illusion that we have control of reality.

Easier said than done, I know. But the lesson is clear, especially in an era where we increasingly live inside algorithmically curated worlds: When we “lose control” of our planned reality, we have no idea what might come of it—until we embrace it.

“We try so hard to cling to the rock face of fixed focus,” Burkeman writes, “that we fall off, again and again—yet when we do… We lose our grip on our plans for the day and find ourselves tumbling through life.”

So the next time you’re interrupted, stop. Smell the roses. See where they take you.