Junk food for my mind
THE RUB
My instagram entry drug was Swiss Watches Dot Com. I love watching the salesman handle goofy people and make them offers for their watches, gold, and diamond rings. He’s a pro who’s charming, sharp, and entertaining. But the algorithm sucks me in. Soon I’m scrolling through cooking videos, babies doing stand-up, and eventually an AI Bob Barker giving out live alligators on the Price is Right.
Twenty-five minutes gone.
I used to beat myself up over these moments. I once told an audience this cringy absolute, “Every minute where you are not listening to high quality audio books or podcasts is a missed opportunity to keep learning.” The crowd nodded. I meant it, and now I regret how wrong I was.
Our brains need downtime and not as a reward for productivity, but as a requirement for it. The question isn’t whether to give your brain a break. It’s whether your breaks are restoring or draining you.
Twenty-five minutes on Instagram left me foggy and a little gross. That’s not rest. That’s junk food for the mind.
THE FRAMEWORK
Maya Angelou had this figured out decades ago. She learned the distinction between the little mind and the big mind from her grandmother, who would dismiss trivial things as not being on her “littlest mind.” For Angelou, the little mind was the surface layer that handled routine tasks, and the big mind was where deep, thoughtful work happened.
Her writing process leaned into this deliberately. She’d check into a bare hotel room with a deck of cards and a legal pad. She used the room only as a daytime office, and she played solitaire to keep the little mind occupied, just enough engagement to quiet the noise, while her big mind went to work. She was accessing a productive mental state.
Like a herding dog, the little mind needs a job, or it goes looking for one. Left idle, it reaches for the nearest stimulation. For me, it’s usually my phone. I don’t want to eliminate little-mind time, but I’d love to upgrade it. Give my little mind activities that restore me, have a natural stopping point, and don’t leave me worse than when I started.
Instagram fails all three tests. A walk around the block passes all three.
THE PRACTICE
I’ve been rebuilding my little-mind toolbox where I keep my go-to activities I reach for when I need a mental gear shift. The best little-mind activities share three qualities: engaging enough to quiet the mental chatter, bounded enough to have a natural exit, and restorative enough to leave me refreshed.
Games and puzzles. Wordle is my anchor. It’s solvable most days, occasionally humbling, and most importantly, it ends. You get one shot per day. The built-in off ramp is a major benefit. I’ve extended this practice to include Connections, Strands, and The Mini. They serve as treats that I sprinkle throughout the day for when I need that little-mind distraction. The Legend of the Red Dragon is an old-school text-based fantasy RPG game that also has a once-a-day limit. The constraint is a refreshing contrast to the sticky never-ending scroll.
Movement. Get up. Walk around the block. Hold a deep squat for a minute. Do some toe yoga. I set a daily goal of 8,000 steps and 5 minutes of deep squats, and those two targets reshape how I move through the day. The harder discipline for me is doing these without a podcast playing. Not every movement needs a soundtrack. Sometimes the walk is the point.
Rituals. Make a cup of coffee, and be present through the process. Grind the beans. Heat the water to the right temperature. See and smell the grounds blooming. This gives my hands something to do while my mind exhales. A good ritual has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It pulls you in without demanding too much.
Easy Creativity. Doodle. Write a limerick. Build with Lego. This is structured play that provides enough engagement to feel intentional and is light enough to not be grinding. This is an underdeveloped tool for me. I’m making space for more sketches and stanzas in my notebook.
Guilt-Free Consumption. Watch a movie. Read a chapter. Sit with a glass of bourbon and listen to an album. Focus on the art and commit to the experience. That means leaving my phone in another room so I don’t grab for it when I get restless. And when something is really good, it brings my big mind along for the ride.
The difference between Instagram and a crossword puzzle isn’t the amount of time they take. It’s how I feel afterwards. What’s in your little-mind toolbox?