Imagine you own a car factory with a well-oiled production line that has been running smoothly for 20 years. Your entire setup is optimized to manufacture Nissan 350Zs, and although sales are still decent, they’ve declined over time. After conducting a market study, you discover that producing Porsche 911s would significantly boost sales. The catch? Transitioning your factory to build Porsches would require a complete overhaul of the production line. On top of that, a voice in your head whispers, “Why change something that’s still working?”—a sentiment that makes the decision even harder.
This dilemma isn’t limited to car manufacturing. This morning, over breakfast, I realized that I’ve experienced a similar internal struggle in an entirely different context. A while ago, I was experimenting with video editing techniques and truly enjoying the process. At some point, I told myself that I should stop and switch to another task. Surprisingly, this turned out to be the most challenging part of the day. It felt as if my brain was resisting the change with all its might. Even though I logically knew it was time to move on, my brain kept flooding itself with chemicals designed to keep me focused on what I was already doing.
Not being a neurologist, I started thinking of an analogy: the brain might function like the flow of a river. Picture a river—every water droplet is moving in the same direction, with a steady speed, which only changes gradually over time. If you suddenly try to redirect the flow, the entire mass of water resists, naturally trying to maintain its course. Similarly, when you're deeply engaged in an activity, your brain has directed its energy and resources to the neurons that best support that task. Changing direction requires a full-scale reconfiguration of hormones and neural pathways, which is why it feels so difficult.
This concept might also explain why social media and entertainment apps are so addictive. If you’re fully immersed in a difficult math problem, resisting distractions like TikTok is relatively easy—the ‘river’ is already flowing in the direction of deep concentration. However, if you open your phone first thing in the morning, when no strong cognitive direction is established, it’s easy to fall into a scrolling loop. Once engaged, your brain’s ‘Entertainment Neurons’ take control, and shifting focus to something demanding becomes a battle against inertia. Even if you force yourself to start a productive task—say, working on an assignment—your brain might still be drawn to the dopamine rush of social media, making concentration difficult.
What concerns me most is how our habits shape the brain over time. Repeated exposure to social media strengthens neural pathways associated with instant gratification, while reducing the volume of mental resources allocated to deep thinking and problem-solving. It’s frightening to consider that my fingers have memorized the exact motion required to open Instagram, as if on autopilot. While social media certainly has its benefits—improving communication and socialization—it’s alarming that something as mindless as clicking an app has become so reflexive.
Moreover, I’ve noticed that excessive use of entertainment apps diminishes my ability to ponder big questions—questions about life, society, and existence itself. Deep thinking requires an uninterrupted mental state, something that modern distractions constantly threaten. Yet, at the same time, completely avoiding social media might come at a cost—potentially hindering my ability to connect with others.
So, what’s the solution? Balancing focus, entertainment, and deep thinking feels like a million-dollar question—one that we all must grapple with in an era of endless digital distractions.
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