Putting it Down: Reclaiming My Attention and Intention From Twitter

How two unexpected encounters led me to prioritize presence over the feeds.

“There's a pretty large chance that we're not gonna make it as humans.There won't be any humans on the planet, in a not-too-distant future, and that makes me very sad. We just had a little baby and I keep asking, how old is he even gonna get? I said to my wife recently, it feels a little bit like I was just diagnosed with some sort of cancer, which has some risk of dying from and some risk of surviving. Except this is a kind of cancer which can kill all of humanity.”

These somber words, spoken by Max Tegmark, a prominent author and machine learning researcher at MIT, felt like a punch to the gut as I listened to him discuss the existential risk of AI with Lex Friedman. I found myself sitting up straight in my chair, a cloak of sorrow and fear swallowing my body. This statement bore down on me, especially as a father of two young girls. Tegmark's reputation and understanding of AI gave his words an undeniable weight.

This was four months ago, and in the subsequent days, a question continually resurfaced: if it’s true that humanity has been diagnosed with a terminal illness, how do I want to spend my remaining days?

On April 25th, I wrote in my journal:

"In the face of humanity's metaphorical cancer diagnosis, I choose to embrace life and my full aliveness. I aspire to awaken all of my senses, detach from Twitter, and focus intensely on my present experience. A portion of every day will be dedicated to quality time with the family, especially Eliza, Faye and Flo. I’ll double down on my mental and physical well being, prioritizing workouts and meditation so I can feel energized and healthy. I’ll take daily walks in nature and explore the wonders of the Hudson Valley. I’ll experiment with psychedelic medicines to heal past traumas and explore my psyche more deeply. I’ll spend as much time as possible helping clients, friends and acquaintances navigate change and transition. I also feel called to create the space, presence and attention to finally write a book about personal evolutions and conscious change. Interestingly, much of my life already mirrors this, but I want to step more fully into it.”

I reflected on this question for weeks, and several words continued to rise to the surface—aliveness, presence, and intention. This process revealed a longing within me to live even more consciously and cultivate the qualities that energize my body, mind and spirit. I felt an intense pull towards connecting with my inner wisdom, synching with my natural rhythms, and harnessing my creative energy in a way that hopefully helps other human beings.

Whether it's fear of an AI break out, climate disaster, new pandemics, or nuclear warfare, there are brilliant scientists and philosophers who believe there’s a good chance we won’t make it as a species, and our demise may come sooner than we think. Not only will I die, but anything I leave behind won’t outlast me very long. There is only impermanence.

The more I thought about this, I found myself increasingly uninterested in ego-fueled pursuits. I didn't crave a luxury getaway to Amangiri, the challenge of scaling Everest, 100,000 followers on Twitter, or the prestige of an influential coaching practice. Instead, the answer to my question emerged with striking clarity: I aspire to live consciously, to follow my own inherent energy, to help other human beings, and to immerse myself fully in the present moment.

Exploring Presence

In the words of Doug Silsbee, the late master coach and creator of Presence-Based Coaching, presence is a “state of awareness, in the moment, characterized by the felt experience of timelessness, connectedness, and a larger truth.” Silsbee elaborated that presence “unveils new possibilities for action, reveals a larger context, lays bare our freedom of choice, and provides an 'intelligent moment,’ and opens the way to fulfillment.”

Presence is one of those elusive terms that’s hard to put into words or understood—it's a quality of being that needs to be experienced. For me, presence implies fully perceiving and experiencing the current moment with all our senses—sight, sound, smell, taste and touch–alert and engaged. It means tuning into the three centers of intelligence—the head, heart and gut—and harnessing their collective wisdom. More so, it entails accepting and immersing ourselves in whatever we're experiencing, regardless of its intensity, whether it’s blissful or painful. 

Presence opens our senses to our surroundings, and how we respond to what we perceive. It asks us to fully be with and accept our experiences, irrespective of their nature—whether triggers, sensations, emotions, thoughts, narratives, or interpretations. It reflects a profound connection to the rhythms and flows of life that surge within and around us. From this grounded state, we find the gifts of connectedness and choice.

In my experience–as a professional coach and human being—I've come to appreciate how presence helps us step back from our thoughts and emotions. It encourages us to fully embrace our experiences, gain a deeper understanding of our triggers and habitual patterns, and importantly, it paves the way for us to live far more consciously and intentionally. Without it, we’re left at the whims of our conditioning, messages we receive from our environment and even the algorithms that dictate what information we get exposed to.

In The Power of Now, Eckhart Tolle touts presence as a kind of magic:  “As soon as you honor the present moment, all unhappiness and struggle dissolve, and life begins to flow with joy and ease. When you act out the present-moment awareness, whatever you do becomes imbued with a sense of quality, care, and love—even the most simple action.” Rather than fixating on what went wrong in the past or what could go wrong in the future, you’re able to witness how things naturally flow and unfold within and around you. It’s from this place that you can deeply engage in the ebb and flow of life, moment by moment, and attune yourself to the ease and wisdom inherent in nature's rhythms.

Recognizing my longing for presence and awareness, I set out to identify the activities and environments that either cultivated this state of being or distracted from it. I began to observe my own actions and reactions as if I were Darwin studying a flock of finches in the Galapagos. 

Certain activities reliably drew me into a state of presence: spending time with my girls, walking in nature, engaging in exercise, coaching others, practicing meditation, indulging my natural curiosity through self-directed learning, and writing. Conversely, there was just one activity that reliably yanked me out of my presence—Twitter. With enough time and self-observation, I discovered that my use of Twitter consistently took me out of presence, fragmented my attention, and dulled my sense of aliveness.

The patterns that emerged were quite familiar. I checked Twitter at all hours, including 6am when my daughter was crying for her bottle and 10pm when I was brushing my teeth. I drafted tweets in my head while I took walks in nature, cooked dinner, browsed the web, and laid in bed. I glanced at notifications and DMs during deep work time, taking me out of creative flow. Worst of all, I criticized myself for not having anything meaningful to share, I compared myself to countless users, including friends and acquaintances, and I judged just about everything I posted and read in the feeds. I emerged from bursts of mindless and endless scrolling not only with fractured attention but also with more anxiety. I was living in a social-media induced fog that hijacked my attention and made me feel awful. 

Despite this, one of my familiar and trusted defense mechanisms—rationalization—kicked into high gear for several months. 

Steve, you have more than 70,000 followers, and this is good for your business. The majority of your clients find you through Twitter. You can’t possibly walk away from this asset. It’s too valuable. And remember, it took you more than fifteen years to grow and cultivate. All of your friends and people you respect are in this community. It’s a great way to keep in touch, see what they’re up to and learn from them. Building in public is so valuable and you’re learning so much right now. You have so much knowledge and wisdom to share with the world. How will people discover your work? Keep going. How can you quit after all of this time? You can’t! 

I tried to counteract this by redefining my relationship with Twitter, hoping to use the platform more thoughtfully and responsibly. I attempted to view it as a sandbox for creativity and connection, a positive learning space ripe for personal growth. I even went to the extent of deleting the app from my phone but eventually reinstalled it because there was something that I wanted to share in the heat of the moment. Despite my good intentions and determined efforts, the status quo wouldn’t budge. I was hooked.

This cycle of internal struggle and indecision lasted for several months. Deep within, I knew that these powerful digital narcotics had hijacked my dopamine receptors, working exactly as designed. Eventually, I recognized an all-too-familiar pattern—I was still sleepwalking through life in a digital haze. 

I kept on coming back to that journal entry from April 25th: I choose to embrace life and my full aliveness. I aspire to awaken all of my senses, detach from Twitter, and focus intensely on my present experience. The more I reflected on this, the more I remembered the late stages of my alcohol and drug addiction when I’d lie awake at night filled with anxiety, shame and regret. I knew deep down inside that what I was doing to myself wasn’t good for me but I continued to use it anyway because I couldn’t possibly see a way out. I didn’t know there was another, better way to live—consciously and free from substances. 

With enough time and space, I came to the realization that I simply couldn't use it responsibly. Despite my best attempts, I was addicted. A yearning and readiness to walk away was building within me.

The Shaman in the Subway

One evening in early 2017, I was hustling through Union Square Station in the heart of New York City on my way to a tech meetup. As I weaved through the rush-hour crowds, I found myself drawn to hypnotic rhythms emanating from the depths of the station. 

Vibrating notes filled the air, seeping through the rattle and hum of trains, capturing my attention in an instant. The sounds were like nothing I had ever heard in my life. Even though I was running behind and had to catch a train, I found myself in a trance, so I instinctively followed the beat of the drum. 

I continued to follow the reverberating drone, reminiscent of a giant bee's hum and the distant rumble of thunder. This torrent of sound traveled through the tunnels of the subway station. Its primitive tone felt like an echo from ancient times, vibrating not just in my ears, but throughout my entire body. 

I finally reached the source of these wild vibrations—a large middle-aged musician dawned in all black with shakers strapped to his legs, gyrating his body and blowing on a giant didgeridoo, extending from his mouth down to the subway floor. Passersby stopped to watch, a rare event in New York, their attention as intensely captured as mine. 

Caught in the hypnotic resonance of the instrument, I reached for my phone. I felt compelled to capture this alien sound, this unique moment in time. I opened my camera app, lifted my phone and hit record.

Within 10 seconds, the hypnotic drone of the didgeridoo came to an abrupt halt. The busker’s fierce eyes locked onto mine, as he pointed an unyielding finger in my direction. “PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY. PUT YOUR FUCKING PHONE AWAY.” Then, with a dismissive flick of his hand, he gestured towards his instrument case, now a makeshift coffer stuffed with dollar bills. The message was as resonant as the music itself—live in the moment, not through a lens.

A wave of surprise and embarrassment gripped me as I had unintentionally triggered this spectacle. Worst of all, I didn’t have any cash to give this performer the recognition his talents warranted. Caught in an unexpected confrontation, I didn't know how to react, so I defaulted to my typical coping mechanism when discomfort strikes—retreat. Saying nothing, I slipped my phone back into my back pocket and flowed back into the river of city life, allowing the throng of people to carry me away.

That encounter lay buried beneath years of memories until just three weeks ago.

In the throes of an intense medicine journey, I found myself plunged into a vivid dream state. Out of nowhere, as though arranged by some cosmic orchestrator, the entrancing hum of the didgeridoo I had once heard in the subway tunnel started to fill the soundscape. The memory of the busker—the subway shaman—sprang up from the forgotten recesses of my psyche, his image as crisp as a newly developed photograph.

I could see him. I could feel him. I could hear him. His voice echoed as if he was standing right next to me, his message reverberating once again with undeniable clarity and urgency: 

PUT YOUR FUCKING PHONE AWAY. ENOUGH WITH THIS ALREADY. JUST STOP IT. ENOUGH. 

The echo of his command was a stark reminder of what I had been wrestling with, catapulting to the forefront of my consciousness. 

As I reflected on my journey the following day, the message was abundantly clear: It was time to finally step away from Twitter and put my phone down.

Heeding the Call

It’s been three weeks since my dream encounter with the shaman in the subway, and I haven’t returned to Twitter.

The outcome? My days feel spacious and longer. There’s a noticeable reduction in stress and mental chatter. Context switching and multitasking have largely disappeared from my routines. I’m far less reactive, noticing and honoring when I get triggered. Comparisons to others have started to fade away. My screen time has plummeted by over 75%. I’m allowing my innate curiosity and energy to guide me instead of the algorithms. I’m learning to trust myself and my instincts to direct what I focus on. I'm learning to place faith in myself, trusting my instincts to dictate where I place my attention. 

Most importantly, all of my senses are awakened and I’m embracing my present experience. I’m living more consciously and intentionally. It’s strange yet wonderful to feel untethered. 

Will I ever return? I’m honestly not sure. As someone who has successfully navigated the turbulent path of addiction recovery, I’m well aware that a small part of me, even now, yearns to get stoned and let everything fade away. Yet, through my recovery work, I have come to realize that reaching for a smoke or a drink isn't the answer even if it will help in the short-term. It's not just about my own struggles, or even about me; it's about the bigger picture. I am a father now.

I feel the same way about Twitter. I have tried, over many years, to use it responsibly, to use it as a tool rather than letting it control me. Yet, it seems that no matter my intentions, the platform becomes a trap. It's become a cycle of angst and frustration, a loop of hope and disappointment. Every time I come back, I convince myself that it will be different, that I will be different. Enough is finally enough.

Whether it's the endless advice threads or non-stop self-promotion, the unending game of status and influence—it's exhausting and getting old. I’m exhausted. And frankly, I've had enough. This isn’t a game I'm wanting to participate in any longer, certainly not if the price to pay is my attention, presence, and mental wellbeing. 

Attention and intention are intertwined in ways we often don't realize, especially in this algorithmically driven world. If my attention is compromised, it inherently derails my intention too. The more I immerse myself in these feeds, the less connected I feel to my own humanity. These platforms are intricately designed to hook us, to foster an addiction, to constantly demand our attention and engagement. Without it they wouldn’t have a business. Cal Newport wrote in Digital Minimalism, “The tycoons of social media have to stop pretending that they’re friendly nerd gods building a better world and admit they’re just tobacco farmers in T-shirts selling an addictive product to children. Because, let’s face it, checking your ‘likes’ is the new smoking.”

The inevitable consequence is a numbing disconnection from my authentic self and experience of the real world.

So how am I moving forward? My intention is to remain off Twitter for the rest of the year and then revisit if, and only if, it feels right in my bones. My desire for presence, aliveness and intentionality far outweighs my desire for fragmented attention and anxiety. 

I’m choosing to build offline relationships in our new community and online relationships in highly intentional forums, such as my men’s group, The Sons of Now. I’m choosing to fill my media diet with a collection of highly curated newsletters from thinkers and writers I trust and respect. I’m also choosing to focus my energy and attention writing a book and continuing my longer-form essays on Where the Road Bends. All of these feed my soul and aliveness. 

There are still some parts of me that want to use social media—the ambitious one, who wants to scale my influence and impact, the lonely one who craves connection, the curious one who loves to explore and learn, the bored one who can’t sit still, and the worried one who is afraid I won’t attract new clients and provide for my family. There’s also a part of me who knows that my life and career has greatly benefited from Twitter. I’m learning to appreciate and empathize with these aspects of myself. They aren't inherently negative or bad. Rather, they’re motivated by a desire to protect and improve my life, even if their strategies don’t align with what I want right now.

I’m reminding myself that there are dozens of coaches who have built and scaled their practices businesses without relying on social media. I’m reminding myself that my life is filled with deep authentic connections every day. I’m reminding myself that I’m learning and growing more now than I ever have. I’m reminding myself that I won’t become irrelevant. I’m reminding myself that my family is taken care of. And I’m reminding myself everything is going to be ok. 

Listening to My Future Self

Whenever the itch to scroll through the feeds strikes, or the urge to share some fleeting thought or joke takes hold, I turn to a fail-safe strategy: I consult my future self.

"Steve," I ask my 80-year-old self, "what's the right call?”

And he’s always there, ready with a sage response: "Steve, I'm 80. None of this digital nonsense matters. Do you really want to spend our golden years tethered to your phone, tangled in the web of an algorithmically-curated feed? Focus on your health, your marriage, your kids, your writing, your mission to uplift others. That’s what matters.”

I’ve discovered that sometimes it’s easier to care for old-man Steve than to care for the needs of present-day Steve. Yet, by considering his perspective, by heeding his wisdom, I find myself more rooted in the present—living just the way he wants me to. And perhaps, just maybe, that's the real magic of embracing the future to live in the now.

Despite my ability to communicate with my future self, I don't possess the foresight to see exactly how the future will unfold. No one does. Here's what I do know: the earth continues to warm, war persists in Europe, and an AI arms race is underway. I also know that nothing lasts forever—impermanence is woven into the fabric of the universe. Everything and everyone has an expiration date. Yes, even you and me.

This existential reality, as daunting as it may seem, also holds a certain beauty. The more we recognize and embrace our mortality, the more intensely we can live today in the present.

So, if it’s true that we've all been handed this terminal diagnosis, how does your future self want you to live today?