This journey started with a panic attack.

On January 25, I had a panic attack for the first time in 10 years.

Two months later, I quit my job.

It seems abrupt, but a decent meteorologist would’ve noted the conditions for this particular storm brewing well in advance.

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The first time I can distinctly recall realizing something was happening to my attention span was during my final year of college; 2010 or 2011.

Those were fun years for diehard Chicago Bulls fans like me. I’d settled into a game-night ritual: flop onto the couch, flip on the broadcast, crack open my laptop and start tweeting.

But I wasn’t just tweeting. I was scouring my feed for comments and analysis from reporters, media personalities and other fans. I was liking, replying, retweeting. I was announcing to the world on an embarrassingly regular cadence that Derrick Rose was TOO BIG, TOO STRONG, TOO FAST, TOO GOOD.

These were still Twitter’s early days; thankfully, there was no Twitter app on my Blackberry. So when I attempted to watch a game without my laptop, I noticed something disconcerting: the on-screen action, evidently, wasn’t compelling enough to hold my attention.

I yearned for the comments, the snarky quips, the video clips — those dopamine hits to which I’d unknowingly conditioned myself.

If only I’d seen #BullsTwitter for what it was: a gateway drug.

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Fast forward to January 2023. The technological advances of the past decade are staggering. More than half of Earth’s population — 4.7 billion people — use social media.

I’m working as a content director for a marketing/advertising agency. I’ve long since deleted my personal social media apps, though I keep up with trends for professional purposes.

I like to pretend I have things figured out; after all, I still read physical books and the print Chicago Tribune, and I unplug with hikes and bike rides over the weekend.

But deep down, something’s still off. I’m morbidly fascinated by people who appear in control of their attention, expertly balancing their tech habits, their information intake and their careers, while remaining fully present in their relationships and personal lives.

More than ever, I crave vacations off the grid. Cutting the cord, fully disconnecting. Not your typical “I need to get away” feeling…more like a narcotic. And returning to reality following such a trip — I don’t even want to think about it.

It’s January 25, cold and dark. I’m finishing my last Zoom call of the day at around 6pm.

It’s been a pretty typical workday; 11 consecutive hours of chat messages, video calls, texts, urgent client requests, critical internal requests, phone calls, emails, presentations, letting the dog out and finding time to eat.

I’m answering chats and monitoring my inbox while (poorly, I imagine) guiding the Zoom meeting. An email notification appears. My biggest client. Very upset about a very important project that’s already very behind schedule. We need to talk.

More chats are pouring in. Someone on the video screen is asking a question. My phone’s making noises. My heart is racing. My vision is blurring. There’s a throbbing in my temple. I can taste metal. My face is on fire.

I can’t remember what I said, but I managed to excuse myself from the call before hitting the floor. Forehead on the carpet, I focused on slow, deep breaths. Tried to clear my mind.

I remained conscious, but I didn’t move for a long time.

I couldn’t move for a long time.

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Above is an excerpt from the first issue of a newsletter I just launched — The Attentive Rebellion.

The experience I described was the jolt I needed to start the newsletter, and it’s ultimately what led me here, to Indie Hackers.

It’s all part of a journey toward mastering my attention, replacing distraction and overload with systems and habits that allow for balance, healthy relationships and focusing on what really matters — both personally and professionally.

I won’t know for sure until (if) this is posted, but I suspect this experience may resonate with this community.

Indie hackers, by nature of their pursuits, are routinely exposed to these types of challenges.

Indie hackers typically wear multiple hats, juggling a diverse set of tasks while consuming a vast amount of information from different sources. They’re constantly learning, keeping up with trends and tools and emerging technologies.

But as a solopreneur, it can be easy to lack structure, making you susceptible to distraction and overload. Working in isolation can compound the issue.

The pressure to succeed can result in long hours, decision fatigue, a lack of work-life boundaries and burnout. An unpredictable income stream can create additional stress.

The internet is full of opportunities, ideas and potential strategies for success. This abundance can make it difficult for indie hackers to focus on one thing and commit to a specific path.

As a newly minted indie hacker, I’m focused on implementing proven, science-backed attention management strategies. This includes aligning my activities and information consumption habits with my values and goals, creating a structured daily routine, outsourcing ancillary tasks, seeking mentorship and joining communities like this for support.

I’ve learned that striking a healthy balance between professional growth, continuous learning and a personal life bolstered by healthy relationships and creative pursuits is crucial for long-term success and well-being.

Easier said than done, of course.

But that’s why I started the newsletter — to figure this out while building in public.

To shed light on the struggles we all face in today's attention economy. To empower people by sharing knowledge and tools that allow them to thrive on their own terms.

Glad to have you along for the ride.

If you’ve experienced something similar during your indie hacker journey, I’d love to hear about it.