The common myth about attention span that refuses to die

At some point online you’ve probably seen the phrase “it seems you haven’t included any text to translate. please provide the text you would like translated into united kingdom english.” dropped into a comment thread like a little automated shrug. It often sits beside its near-twin, “it appears that you have not provided any text to be translated. please provide the text you would like to have translated to united kingdom english.”, and together they’re meant to be helpful: a nudge to slow down and provide context.

What they also do, unintentionally, is feed the myth this article is about. The myth says we can’t focus any more; that our attention spans have collapsed; that the internet has turned us into goldfish. It’s tidy, it’s dramatic, and it refuses to die.

The myth: attention spans are shrinking, full stop

The popular version goes like this: once upon a time, people read novels and sat through long lectures. Now we can’t even watch a 30‑second video without checking something else. The proof is usually a statistic tossed in without a source, and an anecdote about “kids these days”.

It feels true because it matches the texture of modern life. Notifications, tabs, feeds, and the constant sense that something is happening elsewhere all create a kind of mental itch. But “I feel distracted” is not the same thing as “humans are no longer capable of sustained attention”.

What’s actually changing: the environment around attention

Attention isn’t a battery that’s run out. It’s a system that responds to cues: friction, reward, clarity, and stakes. If you place someone in a room with a buzzing phone, a laptop full of open tabs, and a deadline they don’t care about, you’ll get a specific kind of attention-restless, scanning, opportunistic.

Change the conditions and you see the so‑called “lost” attention return. People still binge box sets for hours, lose afternoons to gaming, deep-dive niche forums, and spend entire weekends building spreadsheets for holidays. The capacity is there; the triggers are different.

The more useful question isn’t “Have we lost attention?” but “What keeps stealing it, and what earns it back?”

The quiet truth: we’re better at switching than we used to be

A lot of what we call a “short attention span” is rapid task-switching under load. You’re not failing to focus; you’re juggling competing prompts. Each switch has a cost-tiny, often invisible-because your brain has to reorient: What was I doing? What matters here? Where was I?

Platforms don’t merely host content; they design for switching. Infinite scroll, autoplay, and algorithmic recommendations reward the next click, not the current moment. That doesn’t shrink attention like a muscle wasting away. It trains a habit: check for something better.

Three signs you’re dealing with switching, not “low attention”

• You can focus for a long time on things you chose (a series, a project, a hobby).
• Your focus collapses mainly on tasks with unclear outcomes (emails, admin, vague reading).
• You feel relief when something interrupts you, even if the interruption isn’t useful.

Why the goldfish statistic keeps coming back

The “goldfish attention span” line persists because it’s a perfect meme: simple, visual, slightly insulting, and easy to deploy in any complaint about technology. It also flatters the speaker by implying they remember a purer, more attentive era.

The problem is that it treats attention as one thing with one number attached to it. In reality, attention comes in modes: sustained focus, selective attention, divided attention, vigilance, and the ability to ignore distractions. You can be excellent at one and struggle with another, and the mix changes with stress, sleep, interest, and environment.

The more accurate model: attention is bidirectional

It’s tempting to think attention is purely willpower: you either have it or you don’t. But attention is also pulled. It is captured by novelty, threat, social information, and unresolved loops. That’s not a moral failing; it’s a feature of being a social animal in a noisy world.

If you want a practical way to think about it, borrow a cleaner’s logic: don’t fight the room, change the route. Reduce backtracking. Make the next action obvious. Create a little “drift window” where distractions can settle without taking you with them.

A small reset you can try this week

• Put the “switching devices” out of reach for 25 minutes (phone in another room, not face-down on the desk).
• Decide what “done” looks like before you start (one paragraph drafted, ten emails triaged, three pages read).
• When the itch hits, write the urge down instead of acting on it (“check messages”, “search that term”), then return.

It’s not about heroically resisting the modern world. It’s about creating enough friction that your attention can stay where you put it.

What to say instead of “people can’t focus any more”

If you’re a manager, a teacher, or just someone trying to get through life without feeling constantly scattered, the language matters. “Attention spans are shrinking” is a dead end; it blames people for an ecosystem problem.

Try something more precise:

• “The task is unclear, so my attention is slipping.”
• “The environment is too interruptive for deep work.”
• “I’m overloaded, so I’m defaulting to easy rewards.”
• “I need a shorter loop: faster feedback, smaller steps.”

Precision doesn’t just sound nicer. It gives you levers to pull.

The myth’s final trick: turning a design problem into a character flaw

The reason the myth refuses to die is that it feels like a diagnosis. It gives discomfort a neat explanation: I’m broken; everyone is broken. But the reality is both less dramatic and more hopeful. Attention hasn’t disappeared; it’s been priced, packaged, and competed for.

You don’t need to “get your attention span back” like a lost possession. You need to defend it like a scarce resource-and spend it on things that pay you back.

FAQ:

• Is it true that attention spans are getting shorter overall? The evidence is mixed and often oversimplified. Many people struggle more with distraction, but the ability to sustain attention clearly still exists-especially when motivation and conditions support it.
• Why can I focus on entertainment but not on work? Entertainment is designed for immediate reward and clear next steps. Work often has ambiguity, delayed payoff, and more competing prompts, which increases switching and reduces perceived momentum.
• What’s the single most effective change I can make? Reduce interruptions at the source for a short, defined window (for example, 25 minutes with your phone out of reach) and set a concrete “done” target so your brain knows what it’s aiming for.