Why My Weeks Keep Getting Shorter
The ending of another week.
As you get older, weeks seem to get shorter. Time doesn’t actually speed up, but it certainly feels like it does. Monday arrives, Friday shows up before you know it, and another week quietly slips into the rearview mirror.
Like many adults my age, my weekdays follow a familiar rhythm. Work occupies most of the day. By evening, I’m ready to decompress. My wife and I take a walk, have dinner, then settle in on the couch to watch a show before inevitably reaching for our phones.
That’s where the problem begins.
We tell ourselves we’re relaxing, but a lot of what we consume doesn’t actually relax us at all.
My wife and I probably watch more true crime than we should. Murder mysteries. Cold cases. Evil people doing evil things. We convince ourselves it’s entertainment because there’s usually a mystery to solve and justice waiting somewhere near the end.
But is that really relaxation?
We’re feeding our minds more tension after spending the day trying to escape it.
Then comes the second screen.
My wife doomscrolls Pinterest. I’ve never understood the appeal, but millions of people do. It’s designed to keep you clicking, scrolling, and discovering one more thing before bed.
Me? I’ll troll Facebook.
Not troll people…well, sometimes with a sarcastic comment…but mostly I end up reading the endless parade of political posts, civic drama, conspiracy theories, advertisements, and outrage.
The strange part is I rarely see what my actual friends are doing anymore.
Why?
Because every time I stop to read something ridiculous, leave a comment, or click to learn more, I’ve taught the algorithm something about myself. It dutifully records the interaction and rewards me with even more of the same tomorrow.
I recently started a Facebook page for one of my businesses. Within just a few days, the feed wasn’t filled with guitars or small business content. It was flooded with right-wing political posts, conspiracy theories, and emotionally charged headlines.
That surprised me.
Without knowing anything about me, the algorithm made an assumption about who I was and what would keep me engaged.
Whether it’s corporations, political organizations, media companies, or creators chasing clicks and advertising dollars, the incentive is remarkably similar: keep people engaged. And outrage is one of the cheapest, most reliable ways to do it.
Both sides have a demographic. Both know exactly how to work it.
Here’s what I think neither side likes to admit.
The anger isn’t entirely organic anymore.
It’s cultivated.
Someone profits when we stay angry. Someone benefits when we never quite stop scrolling. Whether they’re selling advertisements, subscriptions, donations, or influence hardly matters. Our attention is the product.
Outrage performs better than journalism.
A stranger being wrong on the internet will almost always get more of my attention than a stranger doing something kind.
The algorithm understands that before I do.
So here’s where I’ve landed.
I’m not deleting Facebook.
I’m not giving up Taylor Sheridan, Apple TV+, or the crime documentaries my wife and I genuinely enjoy together.
That’s not the point.
The point is paying attention to what I’m doing with my attention.
I know that sounds like something you’d read inside a fortune cookie, but stay with me.
The other night I caught myself spending nearly half an hour arguing with people I’ll never meet over opinions that neither of us was ever going to change. When I finally put my phone down, I realized I’d spent more time arguing with strangers than talking to the woman sitting beside me on the couch.
That bothered me.
Every minute I spend arguing with someone else’s meme is a minute I’ll never get back.
It wasn’t even a real argument.
It was a transaction.
I gave away my attention, and somebody else cashed the check.
That’s part of why weeks seem to disappear so quickly.
Some of it is simply getting older.
But some of it is me voluntarily handing pieces of my life to people who were never going to give them back, disguised as entertainment or relaxation.
I’d rather give those hours to my wife.
To the evening walk.
To playing guitar.
To watching a show we intentionally chose instead of letting an algorithm choose one more emotion for me.
Maybe that’s the only real solution — not outrage at the system, just being more intentional about where my attention goes.
The week still ends either way.
I’d just like to feel like I was actually there for it.
DAK