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As a child, I consumed books until my vision grew hazy. When my GCSEs arrived, I demonstrated the stamina of a monk, studying for lengthy periods without a break. But in lately, I’ve watched that capacity for deep concentration dissolve into endless browsing on my device. My focus now contracts like a slug at the touch of a thumb. Reading for pleasure seems less like nourishment and more like a marathon. And for a person who writes for a living, this is a professional hazard as well as something that made me sad. I wanted to regain that mental elasticity, to stop the brain rot.

Therefore, about a year ago, I made a small vow: every time I encountered a word I didn’t know – whether in a novel, an article, or an casual discussion – I would research it and write it down. Nothing fancy, no leather-bound journal or fountain pen. Just a running list maintained, ironically, on my smartphone. Each week, I’d spend a few minutes reading the collection back in an attempt to imprint the vocabulary into my recall.

The record now spans almost 20 pages, and this small habit has been quietly transformative. The benefit is less about showing off with uncommon descriptors – which, let’s face it, can make you sound insufferable – and more about the mental calisthenics of the ritual. Each time I look up and record a term, I feel a faint stretch, as though some underused part of my mind is stirring again. Even if I never deploy “eidolon” in dialogue, the very process of spotting, documenting and reviewing it breaks the drift into passive, semi-skimmed focus.

Additionally, there's a journalling element to it – it acts as something of a diary, a record of where I’ve been engaging, what I’ve been pondering and who I’ve been hearing.

Not that it’s an simple routine to maintain. It is often very impractical. If I’m engaged on the tube, I have to pause mid-paragraph, pull out my device and enter “millennialism” into my digital document while trying not to bump the stranger pressed against me. It can slow my pace to a frustrating crawl. (The e-reader, with its built-in lexicon, is much kinder). And then there’s the revising (which I frequently forget to do), conscientiously scrolling through my expanding word-hoard like I’m preparing for a vocabulary test.

In practice, I incorporate maybe 5% of these words into my daily conversation. “unreformable” was adopted. “Lugubrious” as well. But the majority of them stay like exhibits – appreciated and listed but rarely used.

Nevertheless, it’s rendered my mind much sharper. I notice I'm turning less often for the same tired selection of adjectives, and more often for something exact and muscular. Rarely are more gratifying than discovering the perfect term you were seeking – like locating the lost component that snaps the image into position.

At a time when our gadgets drain our focus with merciless effectiveness, it feels subversive to use my own as a tool for slow thinking. And it has given me back something I feared I’d forfeited – the joy of engaging a mind that, after years of slack scrolling, is finally stirring again.