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When I was a child, I consumed books until my eyes blurred. Once my exams arrived, I exercised the stamina of a monk, studying for lengthy periods without a break. But in lately, I’ve watched that ability for deep concentration dissolve into infinite scrolling on my device. My focus now contracts like a slug at the tap of a thumb. Reading for pleasure seems less like nourishment and more like endurance training. And for a person who creates content for a living, this is a occupational risk as well as something that made me sad. I aimed to restore that cognitive flexibility, to halt the brain rot.

Therefore, about a twelve months back, I made a modest vow: every time I came across a word I didn’t understand – whether in a book, an article, or an overheard discussion – I would research it and record it. Not a thing elaborate, no elegant notebook or fountain pen. Just a running list kept, amusingly, on my smartphone. Each seven days, I’d spend a few moments reading the list back in an attempt to imprint the word into my memory.

The record now spans almost twenty sheets, and this tiny habit has been subtly life-changing. The benefit is less about showing off with uncommon descriptors – which, to be honest, can make you appear insufferable – and more about the mental calisthenics of the practice. Each time I search for and note a word, I feel a slight stretch, as though some neglected part of my brain is flexing again. Even if I never deploy “eidolon” in conversation, the very act of spotting, logging and revising it interrupts the slide into passive, semi-skimmed attention.

There is also a journalling aspect to it – it acts as something of a diary, a record of where I’ve been reading, what I’ve been pondering and who I’ve been listening to.

Not that it’s an easy routine to maintain. It is often very impractical. If I’m reading on the subway, I have to stop in the middle, take out my phone and type “millenarianism” into my digital document while trying not to bump the stranger pressed against me. It can reduce my reading to a frustrating speed. (The Kindle, with its built-in dictionary, is much easier). And then there’s the reviewing (which I frequently neglect to do), dutifully scrolling through my expanding vocabulary collection like I’m preparing for a vocabulary test.

Realistically, I integrate perhaps 5% of these words into my everyday conversation. “unreformable” made the cut. “Lugubrious” as well. But most of them stay like exhibits – admired and catalogued but seldom used.

Nevertheless, it’s rendered my mind much keener. I notice I'm reaching less frequently for the same tired selection of descriptors, and more often for something precise and muscular. Few things are more gratifying than unearthing the exact term you were seeking – like finding the lost component that locks the picture into place.

In an era when our devices siphon off our focus with merciless efficiency, it feels subversive to use mine as a tool for deliberate thinking. And it has restored to me something I feared I’d forfeited – the joy of engaging a mind that, after a long time of slack browsing, is finally stirring again.