Rhythms of Focus

For those of us with ADHD, wandering minds, and the like, coming up against the feelings of guilt, shame, and frustration at being unable to get our work done can feel like torture.
This can lead to anxiety and the urge to run away entirely.
Instead, if we sit with these hard feelings to examine where they may be coming from, we give ourselves the opportunity to name it, and give it a tangible presense rather than allowing it to be a mysterious force we are up against.
Pausing with this fear then brings with it the possibility that the emotion is our mind's attempt to understand or maybe tell us something.
If we can have the bravery to sit with our fears and combine it with the care of giving ourselves space, we are often more receptive to the possibilities which allow us to move forward.
And even if we say, "This is all I can do for now," we can invite a future self to return.

Transcript
I should know this by now. I should be able to do this by now.
Maybe I'm sitting at the piano, the spreadsheet, the page of whatever report. Somehow as this work sits in front of us, this tiredness appears, and we might wonder, maybe I'm just not able.
Maybe I'm dumb. Maybe I'm not confident enough.
There's that moment where the work stops making sense, and the mind reaches for some verdict about ourselves in that. That's where I wanna look at it right now. There's that feeling of tiredness, of bleakness, of confusion, a sense of not getting it, and it can happen anywhere.
Recently I'd been playing at the piano. I was trying to understand some jazz chords. Symbols are right there in front of me. I know what they mean. Still, something stalls. There's this cloud that forms, hard for me to memorize, hard for me to know what goes where and when, and somehow it's just not coming to mind.
Pushing through, using force often begins with that word of "should."
I should get this. I'm not smart enough. I'm not capable enough. We're reading the emotion of confusion, or whatever it is, some negative feeling, as evidence of our own ineptitude.
A shift, and the practice of it
There is a way through, and it has a couple of parts that are hard to separate. A shift in how we hold the moment and the practice of that shift over time.
What do I mean?
The change of perspective is a change of how we look at something. We often hear this in a simple phrase like, "Don't worry about it."
But a shift of perspective cannot be done by dissociation. Don't worry about it doesn't exactly work. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a job. We can't simply leave the original perspective behind. There's history behind it, and therefore emotion, which can't be argued with.
We don't simply adopt a new view and drop the one that hurts. Instead, the practice is to hold both at once, the old sense and the possibility of the new side by side.
This is one of those strengths of the psychoanalytic approach, for example. There we practice following associations. We come to a recognition that conflicting perspectives can be held at the same time.
Nothing has to be banished for a new idea to show up. And then over time, one may form over the other.
So we begin often by asking how we feel about the story we're telling ourselves. That asking itself can create a space of observation, an area a little bit freer of that belief's influence, even in the act of acknowledging it.
That sense of, "Oh, this means I'm dumb." Okay, how do I feel about that idea, that thing that comes to mind? Well, I don't like it, or I'm upset about it, or whatever it is, but it's there.
The pause initiates that process, pausing with the emotion, with the pain, with the fear. That space then holds a possibility that the emotion is the mind's own attempt to understand or maybe tell us something.
It may not be telling us in the best possible way, but it's saying something. Confusion, at least in this way, is not inherently negative. The first step is to simply stay with it and to notice that the negative charge is something we have added in some way.
The shove
What turns the emotions negative beyond the perspective is that shove, is it's that I have to study this, the test is tomorrow.
When we cut corners in that memorization and bypass the play that would have otherwise let that understanding settle in, we leave the session without having understood.
We lose the signal that confusion could have given us. Further, we also deepen the sense that we cannot do things deliberately, that we must rely on these harsh measures against ourselves.
Instead, resting our attention on the emotion, on the confusion, or any other negative sense, we can ask, "What is confusing about this?"
An answer may or may not come. But more importantly, in that pause, in that waiting with that feeling, we've practiced bravery.
What makes it bravery
All right, what makes that bravery? There's this idea I keep returning to from a theologian by the name of Paul Tillich. "Anxiety," he says, "has no object." It's this cloud.
Meanwhile, fear has an object, something that can be faced.
Much of courage is the slow work of turning the cloud into an object, naming the thing so it can be met, turning the anxiety into a fear.
When we stay with the confusion, perhaps worried about what it might mean to us, and ask what exactly is confusing about it, we're doing that. We're letting the fog crystallize into something we can look at.
We remained with the sense that we do not know. We stayed with the confusion as it went on, being tangled up with the old belief that we're somehow dumb or otherwise.
Were we to shove ourselves through or bolt off to find something shinier somewhere else, something on fire somewhere else, we would have lost that chance.
That pause enabled the practice of bravery.
The harder part is that even while staying with this thing that we fear we cannot do, we may still discover that we cannot.
We may not understand it. We may still be just as confused as we began, if not worse.
Injured this way can be terribly hard to hold on to a larger possibility, which is that I can't do this now, but maybe it's just about now. Maybe it's just about not today.
That revisit again and again sometimes helps work it through. But it's hard to hold on to that perspective. Even so, it may never come to us, and we don't know.
Tempering bravery with care
That too is what makes this bravery. There's real fear. Fear is not always unfounded. So we temper our bravery with care.
A sword is made out of steel. Steel that's only hardened, quenched, and made as hard as it can be is brittle and shatters at that first real blow.
Tempering is a gentle heat afterwards, and it trades a little of that hardness for toughness, so the blade can flex under a strike and survive it.
Care is that gentle heat. Bravery alone, untempered, is hard, brittle, tends to shatter on exactly the day it meets real resistance, the day we find the fear was founded. But tempered with care, it can bend and hold.
So we can ask ourselves, to what degree does staying here actually serve me?
I'll give you another example. When we lift weights, we don't do well by trying to lift the most we possibly can. That's how we injure ourselves. Muscle grows faster than bone and tendon. If we just try to lift as much as we can, something will break somewhere.
We attend instead to the sensations of the movement, the good and bad pain that we can feel, a rough division between what builds us and what harms us.
The same principle holds in our work. This bravery and care becoming courage.
When care itself holds us back
Care is not an unmitigated good. I did a episode on this some time ago.
Overzealous, it can hold us back from the work. We procrastinate. We avoid on impulse. Maybe we tell ourselves we are waiting for better conditions or that things must be just right before we begin.
With this hypertrophied sense of care, we may avoid the work entirely. And bravery without care is reckless.
While care without bravery can lead to stagnation. Bringing them together, bravery and care, courage.
Simple, but not easy
The practice is simple and of course, not easy. Simplicity is this: when we run into the difficult sense inside work, the confusion, the overwhelm, the loss, we can pause and ask what exactly is confusing, overwhelming, and raging about it.
Somewhere in there, we may be able to shrink our vision, slow ourselves down, find something smaller that we can hold onto, maybe even find some ease, and maybe face that question, is this all I can do?
Back at the piano, the chord chart sits in front of me, C minor seven, F seven, B-flat major seven, two, five, one, rootless chords.
How do I ever remember these formations? I don't know how to do this. How does anyone know how to do this?
I feel that strain. My mind goes blank. I could stay and push, but then frustration builds. Trouble builds in that push.
Try to give ourselves the hollow reassurance that belief alone would carry us. I can make it through if I only believe enough.
No, I don't have that belief. Force is hollow. Instead, I face it with that...

I came across a social media post recently that made me laugh. "I'm so sorry," it said, "I can't do the laundry, I just don't have the dopamine." I laughed because it rang so true.
And while it's funny, things also need to get done, so we don't laugh ourselves into tears.
In today’s episode, we look at what “not having the dopamine” really points to, and how we might begin anyway. Not by forcing a start, but by showing up and, for a breath, simply being.
#ADHD #FindingFlowWithADHD #WavesOfFocus #ADHDadults #WanderingMind #ADHDfocus #FlowState #ExecutiveFunction
References:
Dr. William Dodson, the interest-based nervous system: https://www.additudemag.com/secrets-of-the-adhd-brain/
Mesolimbic pathway: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mesolimbic_pathway

Transcript

Sorry, I can't do the laundry. I just don't have the dopamine.
I saw this post on Instagram. It was funny. I laughed. It's this honesty that makes something real.
We can join in with more examples, more laughter. It's great. I love that, "I can't do the laundry. I don't have the dopamine."
Laughter's good medicine, but past a certain dose, any medicine can be a poison. We have to be cautious because we can fall together into this sort of celebration of helplessness. Not because any of us are weak, but because the joke becomes the whole conversation, and then it leaves us where we began.
Those of us with wandering minds can have real difficulties, and they can be hard for others to understand. But I think it's vital that when the laughter fades, we need to be able to ask, "What, what can we do from here?"
What do we do when we don't have the dopamine? We might even use science against ourselves, naming dopamine as the prime mover of a reward system deep in the brain.
And because it's this chemical that we can't touch with our fingers, we might conclude that the only access we have is through medication or some trickery or something outside of our own sense of agency.
Another path might be reaching for a more psychological version of the same move. For example, we can invoke Dr. William Dodson's otherwise very helpful description of what tends to engage an ADHD mind, namely challenge, interest, novelty, urgency, and passion.
And then we can say, if none of these emotions are present, then like the missing dopamine, I suppose we are helpless.
This is that interest-based nervous system we explored in episode eight. It's real, it's a useful description, but the trouble is that conclusion that we draw from it.
Play and Its Cousin, Learning
Much of this, though, we can gather under the single idea of play and its close cousin, learning. Challenge, interest, novelty, passion, dopamine itself are all aspects of playful.
And, novelty is play reaching towards something new. Challenge is play testing itself against an edge. Interest and passion are play that has found something it cares for. Even urgency, at its best, is play with the stakes raised.
And the ADHD mind, in my experience, both of myself and as a clinician, often carries this powerful capacity of play.
And everything it represents, whether it's whimsy or discovery or deep engagement.
That play describes so much of what goes right when we're in flow, and so much of what is missing when we can't begin.
We looked at some of this before in episode seven as the cautions of dopamine and a lean toward mastery.
Not Buttons and Levers
So we need to be cautious not to reduce our brains to buttons and levers, this remnant and a metaphor of the industrial age.
We can point to a dopaminergic pathway called the mesolimbic pathway, and tie it to pleasure, to reward, then to drugs and sex and food as though that were all it were for.
But if we look experientially, where we actually have agency, we can notice that when we're engaged well, we're in flow. We're learning, at play. The motions of molecules and the firings of neurons from one nucleus to the next make a flow no less deep or nuanced than our climates and oceans.
We can see that the experience is not some on-off switch. We don't leap from, "I don't feel like it," to, "I feel like it," by some sudden revelation. There's a process we move through from one state to another.
Emotions Gather, Conditions Change
From our depths, emotions gather, ideas form. They crest in their own time on the surface.
We can't win arguments with an emotion, but we're also not helpless against ourselves.
Emotions shift and change with their conditions, and we do have the ability to change conditions. We can position ourselves to make those small transitions that might stir the mind.
The Visit
One way I often espouse to changing conditions is through the visit, in which we show up to a task, hard or not, and then simply be.
Whether it's laundry, a budget, a report, we bring the materials in front of us, move distractions aside, and for a few moments do nothing but be with it. We pause in the now.
We don't need to force ourselves to do anything, and it can seem strange to think of this as a unit of work. What good is it to do nothing?
Too often we privilege action. "Just start," we're told. But such advice can be corrosive, a repeated message that we cannot trust ourselves to decide and to act.
By being with the work, we're not doing nothing. We're meeting the emotions, the true ground from which our decisions are made, from which action of any real conviction is born.
Whether we begin in anxiety, shame, irritation, or more likely, a whole ecology of feeling, any real flow begins in being with those sensations.
In this way, we do the visit, which is we show up, be, and then decide.
The winds and waters of dopamine, of interest, of engagement, of whatever we choose to call them, may even begin to tickle the sails.
So consider as a takeaway, what's something that you don't have the dopamine for? Sometime today, somewhere before going to sleep, can you show up to it or bring it to you and then simply be, if only for a single deep breath?
You don't have to do it anywhere beyond any reality that says otherwise. And if you can do that, consider what's that like?
Music — Wind at Play
I end this week's episode with piece is called "Wind at Play" in C major, all the white keys, and in three-quarters time. Either of which just lends to that childhood play that I like to find. Not sure why, but it does. I hope you enjoy it.
Mentioned in this episode:
Waves of Focus YouTube Series
Look out for new episodes of the new Waves of Focus YouTube series here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJpQS5q6yvRw

One might say the road to hell is paved with well-intentioned lists. Wandering minds tend to collect a stockpile of the latest apps, notebooks, and sticky notes in an effort to keep tasks top of mind.
Unfortunately, when these lists and apps accumulate, it's because they aren't working. It can be difficult to know what tool will meet us in the moment we need it, versus when it's inconvenient and has no chance of being accomplished.
On this week's episode, we discuss why you don't need another list, you need the right prompt.
#ADHD #FindingFlowWithADHD #WavesOfFocus #ADHDadults #WanderingMind #ADHDfocus #FlowState #executivefunction

Transcript
Maybe I just need another list. Things are piling up, something slips. Deadlines creeping up. Project we were working on starting to gather dust.
If I could only find just the right app, the right notebook, the right system, this time it'll finally hold.
All right, so then we build one. And for a day, maybe two, maybe three, it holds up. Then somehow we stop seeing it, slips out of the way. It's out of our fingers. The list is still there. We're just not there with it.
The list was rarely the problem
The lists we build are probably fine. Trouble is not usually that we pick the wrong tool or that we're the kind of person who can't keep a system.
One trouble is often that a list stops reaching us in the moments that matter.
For example, let's say we have a report to write. We put it on the kitchen whiteboard. We put it in bold, maybe alternate colors, draw a circle around it.
However we've done it, by the end of the week, it's part of the wall. It's now just part of the decor.
Nothing changed about the note. What changed is that it's no longer arriving. It's faded into the background.
Organizing, at its heart, is this work of clearing and supporting paths for those things that we find to be meaningful.
A list is one of those paths, but a path that never reaches us at the right time is hardly a path at all, which brings us to the part of organizing that does much of the work and the one that we tend to neglect.
A prompt is about time
When we ask something to reach us at the moment it matters, we're asking for a prompt. Very often our prompts are poor, not because we did not write something down. We wrote them down in 10 different places. We put them in bold, we circled them, we told the app to remind us.
Still, the report sits, the taxes sit, the email we meant to send sits. None of it surfaced when we could actually do something with it, and stayed out of the way the rest of the time.
A good prompt is a matter of timing before it is anything else.
It's the sandwich that I hang on the doorknob so that I can take it on the way out when I go to work. It's resting in our path at the door so it's not left on the counter again.
It's this reminder that says, "Get milk," as we're walking to the store, not while we're lying in bed unable to act on it.
Something that simply sits there blending into the background hardly works. Something that shows up at the right time, well, that meets us.
To prompt is to bring something forward, to make it ready right on time. The word carries its own instructions. Prompts, it's not about being loud. It's about being well-timed.
A good prompt leaves the deciding to us
Now there's a version of prompting that most of us have already tried and it can hurt, in fact.
We make the note bigger. We add another alert. We stack up so many reminders that they begin to drown each other out.
Underneath, there's often this force that's kind of bubbling through. If I can just startle myself hard enough, maybe I'll finally comply. Every louder Post-It is the small message that we can't be trusted. That we have to be cornered into our own life. A wandering mind feeling that way often pulls away.
A good prompt has to respect our working memory. It can't ask us to hold everything in mind at all times. That's precisely the load we're trying to set down. In this way, a good prompt respects our agency.
When that thing surfaces, we still get to decide. We're not commanded, we're informed. We're left free to say yes or not yet or in our own time, all without compromising that prompt.
That freedom is not a loophole in the system, it's the whole point of it. So a good prompt presents itself clearly, arrives on time, and then gets out of the way. Presenting well, that its virtue, timing is its work.
Where good prompts already live
If we look at the tools of this practice, nearly all of them - they are ways of being that prompt, that leave the deciding to us.
In episode 57, we got into the tool of anchoring. It can hold this moment's options in front of us so that short-term memory can stop grabbing at them.
The honor guide brings a project back into view on the day we meant to return to it. The calendar carries an intention across time, hands it back to us when it's due. And the visit shows up at the work, then lets us choose whether to stay.
None of these are force. Each one brings a thing forward at a useful moment, presents it plainly, and then waits for us.
Now there's another layer, that a good prompt is worth building it all.
The kind you can stop checking
And it's that when a prompt is poor, we can't really rely on it. And as a result of that, we keep checking. We reopen the list to make sure it's still there or the thing that we need to do is still there.
We carry the report around in the back of our minds because some part of it doesn't really believe that the note's going to do its job. And that checking can be exhausting, and it never fully stops.
A prompt that we trust is one we feel we can stop checking. We set something down, and we can let it go because experience teaches us over time that it can come back to us when we need it.
It's like this message in a bottle that we send forward to our future selves. First time, we don't really believe it'll arrive. We don't know it. We haven't experienced that.
But when it does, and then does so again, that little tendril of trust begins to grow. We can leave things in that current, and they can come back to us, and it does so without force.
In this way, trust is not built by trying harder or trying at all, really. It's built by experience. It's a longer conversation for another episode, perhaps.
A takeaway
Here's the takeaway. Rather than building another list, consider the following: Pick up something that you keep rechecking, this nagging item you keep reopening the app to confirm is there, or carrying around in your head because you don't quite believe it's handled. Just one of these things.
And then ask a single question about it. What would prompt this at the right time, at a place that I can do something with it? What would bring it forward clearly at that moment that it's relevant and not before?
Maybe it's a reminder set for the actual time, a place that you can act. Maybe it's an object that you leave in your path. Maybe it's a spot on your guide.
You don't have to build an entire system, although a system can be made from exactly this process. You only have to improve one prompt. Notice whether you can even a little set that thing down. Could there be some practice in that?
Today's piece of music is called "Wooded Hills." Composed in June of 2025. I've played it before once I think. Maybe, I don't know. It's a good piece. I like it, and I hope you do, too.
Mentioned in this episode:
Waves of Focus YouTube Series
Look out for new episodes of the new Waves of Focus YouTube series here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJpQS5q6yvRw

Using AI to help with productivity and multitasking is not for the faint of heart when you've got ADHD or a wandering mind. We may feel as though we are being more productive while bouncing from one open thread to the next. But we almost always end up with an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion.
In today’s episode, we discuss the quiet cost our brains pay for all that switching. But if we stop to recognize it, we can also lean in to the small pause the machine hands back to us, the one we’re so quick to fill.
Resources Mentioned in Episode:
Interview with chess prodigy Bobby Fischer
Rhythms of Focus Episode 39: Aligning Emotion and Intention with the 8 Gears of Focus
#ADHD #FindingFlowWithADHD #WavesOfFocus #ADHDadults #WanderingMind #ADHDfocus #FlowState #executivefunction #AI #Productivity

Transcript
There are eight or nine of these in a row lined up left side of the screen, some pinned, some not, every one of them are waiting on me, teasing me. These threads of Claude, my AI of choice at the moment, I have to decide among all these different threads, much like I would decide about all these different projects, the tabs across my, my browser.
I have to remember where I was last. I have to spin the drive in my own head to start doing anything. So I choose one, start going. Now it has to think. And in the time that it's thinking, maybe I start thinking, I could be more efficient by picking up some other thread.
And so I do, and then I say my piece there, and then I glance back at that left-hand panel, and I see the first one was working, and then I move on to the third. And after enough of this, I'm bouncing. Waiting for one to start up, watching one turn blue, one turn gray, so it needs me again, and I'm juggling. I'm productive. I'm exhausted.
Recently I've found myself bouncing around between eight or nine different open threads with my AI, choosing one of them, then starting another while it was thinking, and then reaching for a third, and I'm juggling, feeling like, "Am I being productive? Maybe." But I'm also feeling pretty worn out.
Those with ADHD and wandering minds, I think, know the sense that bouncing between several things at once, whatever it happens to be, it doesn't have to be AI, can be this thrill and exhaustion, like I'm being used up in the process, something like a workout. But what are we working out?

Decision, Consideration, and the Drain
I've talked before about the foundational channels of decision, consideration.
When we're deciding, we are choosing our intention. What is the thing that's in front of us? Where do we want our mind to be?
And here, that boundary of what's holding where we want our mind to be is already porous. For a wandering mind, it's trouble.
It takes some type of energy to hold that boundary, to keep ourselves in line. And once it's broken, it's easier to injure it again, like the sprained ankle.
We can call it creativity, the realization of this vision and the act of making something. The channel of beginning — really this channel of beginning again and again, this iteration unifies with where we are envisioning things with that consideration
The decision tends to hold better when we're drawing that border of whatever it is that we're making. We can always update where we want our mind to be, but there's effort in doing that. There's energy.
It draws us out each time as we re-exercise that agency to realign what we want to be doing with how we feel.
When we're considering something, we are picturing it in mind, we're envisioning. And we fill the border that decision established, we're there with it. We see what comes to mind, where things are, where they could be, and then have to realign ourselves every time that we switch. More energy gets drained.

Twenty Games at Once

I once heard this interview with Bobby Fischer, this chess prodigy. He said that he could play 20 games at once, moving from one to the next, cycling through.
But he also said to the interviewer that it was for show, and he didn't like doing it. He described how the ideas could work themselves out, maybe in this unconscious world as he moved from one table to the next.
This parallel process that I think we have within ourselves. We engage in a thing, and then we walk away as our unconscious mind can bubble around it.
But do enough of this, this, you know, extended sort of rhythm between multiple things, and I think there's this exhaustion that comes with it.
Holding things in mind has its gifts, of course. We can better traverse those maps of whatever it is we're doing. But when those intentions, those things we want to do, don't align as we run several things at once, we're, we're switch tasking, and there's a cost to it.

When Threads Relate, and When They Don't

Alright, so what's the solution? Well, I'm not sure there's a clean rule. Uh, for a moment, for a single thread, for, you know, this is one moment for several, it's not clear.
It's not always obvious when things relate, but when they relate, it seems like it can be a good idea to bring several ideas together. It's like a tennis stroke that all aligns at once as we practice this part and that part and the other part, and we kind of bring them together.
But sometimes they don't, like making dinner while learning how to play the piano and creating a mess.

The Pause the Machine Hands Us
I will say this, though, when I'm at Claude or any AI really, and I stay with a single thread, and I pause to watch the AI think, not filling every moment with something else, I'm giving my own thoughts a certain space to come to mind.
I can rest in that more fundamental state of being. And when I do that, that reformulating of decision, of vision, of all the rest of those channels of engagement, things become simpler.
That pause let me restore myself in that place of being. I can reflect on meaning, where energy is flowing from, from something within me, from beyond me.
It's no longer me working against the grain of multiple waves, this sea of emotion and interest that's become this complex mess. Instead, I'm more in tune with what's already there.
I define motivation as the degree to which our emotions align with our intention, something I explored in episode 39.
So much of the work is the skill of sailing these seas of emotion with the intentions that we carry. When we can pause in that state of being, we're so much more in tune with that sea. Sometimes we find the intention we had can be set down or reformed, or it arrives, and we can sail it more readily too.
Maybe I'm being a broken record here. I talk about pausing so much. Somehow it's still the hardest thing to do and the most important.
But it's in this particular day and age when I can notice that there are times, like when I'm waiting for the machine to think, that I can pause to think. In a sense, the machine handed me the pause. My only move is not to fill it.
Music — Waves on a Nights Shore
Today's piece I won't say too much about. I think it's just a piece to listen to. It's called Waves on Night's Shore, and I hope you enjoy it.
Mentioned in this episode:
Waves of Focus YouTube Series
Look out for new episodes of the new Waves of Focus YouTube series here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJpQS5q6yvRw

This week we discuss the very real fear of disclosing our wandering minds with bosses and managers. Will they think less of us? Will they support the perhaps unique conditions of how our brains are capable of being used best?
It's a complicated scenario, and of course can depend very much on the work and people involved. It's not something to take lightly, but it's important to recognize, at its core the question comes from a place of care for your work.
While it can feel like a burden, a wandering mind is powerful, is creative, and can contribute positively. It's about asking ourselves the right questions to find the right structure for productivity.
We close with a piece called Weight in Arms.

Transcript
Should I tell my boss about my wandering mind, my ADHD?
It's an understandable but profoundly tricky question, rarely comes alone. A few other questions tend to follow in its wake, like what could I gain by saying something? Could it cost me my job? Would they even understand? And we can sit a long while in that not knowing.
That question, should I tell my boss about my ADHD, about my wandering mind?
The Stakes Are Real
Before anything else, it helps to say clearly that that worry, what it could do, what harm it could create, it's not imaginary. Telling someone can carry real weight. How a manager hears it, the protections it may or may not apply, whether it suddenly changes how our work gets read.
Some bosses can meet it with grace, others not. You might even get fired for it, but maybe they would just point at something else as the culprit. Even so, sometimes being fired, whether out of fear, wish, or both, can be useful. So even if that were to happen, is that the right thing? It's not clear.
Weighing whether to raise it is not simple. It's not weakness. It's care. Nothing here, of course, is meant to talk us past some genuine risk. I want to be clear about it. It's meant to be an idea that opens the question wider once the risks have been honestly faced.
A Weight of History
These questions have a history, something behind them. Wandering mind, ADHD or otherwise, is not just a person living in the moment. There's this history that follows us into the now.
In the days of school, there's a depth of creativity and intelligence that needs to connect with reality, and then it can be met with so many different attitudes.
As an example, when you raise your hand in class and this young kid wondering, "Why do I need to know this?"
One teacher may take the time to truly think about the power of the knowledge they are trying to impart, the sense of changing the world that could be beneficial to you, and then maybe find ways to connect with that driven spirit of care and play behind the question.
But many others, exhausted by their own gauntlet of impossible rules, conflicting requirements, and the like, find that question to just be frustrating. And with enough accusations, enough feelings of frustration from up above in the class, we might lose sight of the positive behind that question.
We might ask for accommodations. "Hey, give me more time. Give me a fidget. Give me a break." Any and all of them could be helpful, but the person asked to do more for us might end up feeling resentful, consciously or otherwise.
Each of us carrying more than the other can easily see. We can try to argue that such resentment is or is not warranted, but arguing the resentment away hardly works.
When Accommodations Become Apologies
Our arguments for accommodations are often these attempts to do what others do, get the homework in on time, avoid disrupting others, pass the tests. Such approaches play out in the days well beyond school.
In other words, behind the question of whether to tell a boss about ADHD is something along the lines of, "What if I forget something? What if I miss a deadline? Could it get me off the hook?" Or, "Give me lots of reminders. I can't handle them myself." And running underneath is all, "How can I not be a troublemaker?"
What's missing is the wonderful power and beauty of a wandering mind, the deep focus, creativity, discovery, play, invention, and more. Why leave these behind in this discussion? When our strengths are unseen in the glimmer of another's eye, there's no mirror to see them in ourselves.
A Practice in Presenting Strengths
Growing up now in a world of work, we often forget that these powers are there laying dormant. Instead, we continue to ask for mercy and forgiveness in the form of accommodations rather than the conditions that allow us to shine.
The trouble is often not that we cannot. It's that we do not have the practice of knowing and nurturing our abilities. Communicating, crafting the stories, conveying the sense of what we have to offer all take practice.
In putting my own thoughts together for my dear audience of fellow wandering minds, I've had to practice describing how whatever I have to say might be of benefit. Without doing so, I'm just another talking head easily ignored.
But when I can, for example, in the opening 90 seconds of my podcast, something I've worked hard to put together and then practiced, I hope to convey, "Hey, maybe I can help."
Certainly I'm simplifying a deeply complex issue. This is not an overnight endeavor. It takes practice, visits over time. Sometimes it helps to recruit caring others to the cause.
Among others, I give great thanks to my dear friends. one person who, uh, you've heard on an episode we did together, Rachel, who helped me recognize my voice, present my story, and describe the strengths I'm trying to portray.
Another, Billy, who, uh, on another episode we did together helped me think through also, "How do I craft my voice? How do I present something? How do I present that I have something to offer, hopefully, to an audience?"
With practice, we learn for ourselves where we can and cannot trust ourselves to follow through on something. We find how to structure our work, our ideas, so we can be alerted when we need to be, clear of distractions, respectful of our own working memory as unique as it is.
We learn not only what we need to get by, but more importantly, what we can use to excel. When we know how we can excel, what it takes to support our ability to do well, it's no longer about, "Do I tell my boss whatever?" It's about discussing specifics that help nurture an environment that works for you, that helps you build the relationships between yourself and the work that helps you engage yourself as a best self.
So for a moment, consider what helps bring about those spirits of play and care for yourself, maybe at home. What are those conditions? What comes from those conditions, those ways of working? And then rather than focus on conditions first, what if you considered what you could do and create if those conditions were there?
Music — Weight in Arms
Today's piece of music is called Weight in Arms. Enjoy.

#ADHD #FindingFlowWithADHD #WavesOfFocus #ADHDadults #WanderingMind #ADHDfocus #FlowState #executivefunctions
Mentioned in this episode:
Waves of Focus YouTube Series
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