Where Are You Consuming Distraction?
A mindfulness practice on intention, avoidance, and coming back to presence
As I have been preparing for my upcoming Introduction to Mindfulness course, I have been reflecting deeply on my own practice and path. In doing so, a question I have heard often in teachings came to mind:
Where are you mindlessly consuming?
Often when we think about consumption, we think about food—and yes, looking at where we are mindlessly consuming food is part of the practice. But Buddhism invites us to look deeper. Not only at food and purchasing habits, but also at what we listen to, what we watch, and even the conversations we engage in.
The question asks us to look into our lives and notice where we are consuming in ways that contribute to our suffering.
As I sat with this question, some interesting patterns came to light. I often put on a podcast—or even a teaching—when I’m walking, getting ready in the morning, or tending to the yard. On the surface, these can be wonderful. When the intention is to listen and enjoy, they can nourish us. But when I looked honestly, I saw that sometimes I was reaching for them because I didn’t want to hear my own thoughts or feel what was arising. In those moments, they were not support—they were distraction from being present.
This became even clearer on more challenging days, or when I wasn’t feeling well. As I’ve been navigating side effects from medication after breast cancer, I noticed myself scrolling through shows, choosing something—anything—just to have it on, even if I didn’t truly want to watch it. It was clear this was an act of distraction, not enjoyment. And sometimes, what I chose actually fed more suffering—creating anxiety or restlessness. The distraction then became fuel for more distraction.
The intention behind these actions matters. If we engage with a show, a podcast, or even conversation with the intention of enjoyment, we often choose things that support how we want to feel or live—even if it’s simply rest.
If we are grasping for something to avoid our thoughts or pain, we tend to add more noise—and in doing so, we often prolong what we are trying not to feel and sometimes even enhance it. We need space and silence—moments that allow us to process and let go.
As I challenged myself to release some of this habitual consumption, something shifted. The moments of discomfort didn’t disappear—but they moved. They were felt but I was able to move through most of them pretty quickly.And then I found myself enjoying the silence and deepening my practice.
I found myself laughing more with my daughter. Feeling the dirt in my hands as I repotted plants. Noticing the way sunlight warmed the grass beneath my feet. Seeing the birds dance together when I walked.
Simple moments, fully lived.
Consuming as distraction can show up in many places in our lives. It might be television, or buying things we don’t need. It might be mindless snacking, or putting in headphones just to fill the silence of an ordinary task. Whether we are avoiding pain or boredom, mindfulness invites us to notice. And in that noticing, we are given something powerful—the freedom to choose. Not reacting from habit, but responding from awareness.
I’d love to hear from you—
Where do you notice yourself consuming distraction? If you choose to explore this gently, what do you discover?
If you’d like to go deeper into mindfulness, there are still a few spots available in my Introduction to Mindfulness course beginning April 21.
The course is offered in the spirit of generosity—nothing expected except your presence. I’d love to have you there.




Oh, what a beautiful and honest piece this is, April—I can feel a deep inner strength in it. This especially lingers in the silence after reading:
“I found myself laughing more with my daughter. Feeling the dirt in my hands as I repotted plants. Noticing the way sunlight warmed the grass beneath my feet. Seeing the birds dance together when I walked.”
The truth is, even though I’m a yoga teacher and I lead forest meditation teacher trainings—so it’s not like I’ve just started practicing mindful presence—I have to admit that it’s a constant wavering. The same goes for eating and snacking; for me, it’s an ongoing struggle. And also with spending too much time in front of the computer.
For example, right now the sun is shining brilliantly outside, and our 80-year-old pear trees are in full bloom. So I’ve decided to put aside reading these wonderful Substack pieces for a while and go outside—to bathe in the spring.
If I hadn’t read your writing, I would have probably sat here at the computer all day. I’m only saying this so you can feel the power of what you’ve written. Thank you.