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When I was a youngster, I devoured novels until my vision grew hazy. When my GCSEs came around, I exercised the stamina of a ascetic, studying for hours without pause. But in lately, I’ve observed that capacity for deep concentration dissolve into endless scrolling on my phone. My focus now shrinks like a snail at the touch of a thumb. Engaging with books for enjoyment feels less like nourishment and more like endurance training. And for a person who writes for a profession, this is a professional hazard as well as something that left me disheartened. I wanted to restore that cognitive flexibility, to halt the mental decline.

So, about a year ago, 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 stylish pen. Just a ongoing record maintained, ironically, on my smartphone. Each seven days, I’d spend a few minutes reviewing the collection back in an effort to imprint the word into my memory.

The list now spans almost 20 pages, and this tiny habit has been quietly transformative. The payoff is less about peacocking with obscure adjectives – which, to be honest, can make you appear insufferable – and more about the mental calisthenics of the ritual. Each time I search for and note a word, I feel a faint stretch, as though some underused part of my brain is stirring again. Even if I never use “phantom” in conversation, the very act of noticing, logging and reviewing it breaks the drift into passive, semi-skimmed focus.

Additionally, there's a journalling aspect to it – it functions as something of a journal, a record of where I’ve been reading, what I’ve been thinking about and who I’ve been hearing.

Not that it’s an simple routine to keep up. It is often extremely inconvenient. If I’m engaged on the tube, I have to stop mid-paragraph, take out my device and type “millenarianism” into my digital document while trying not to bump the person squeezed against me. It can reduce my reading to a maddening speed. (The e-reader, with its integrated dictionary, is much kinder). And then there’s the revising (which I frequently neglect to do), conscientiously scrolling through my expanding word-hoard like I’m preparing for a word test.

In practice, I incorporate maybe 5% of these terms into my everyday conversation. “unreformable” was adopted. “mournful” too. But the majority of them stay like museum pieces – appreciated and listed but seldom handled.

Nevertheless, it’s made my mind much sharper. I notice I'm turning less frequently for the same overused selection of descriptors, and more often for something exact and strong. Rarely are more satisfying than unearthing the perfect word you were searching for – like locating the missing puzzle piece that locks the picture into position.

At a time when our gadgets drain our focus with relentless effectiveness, it feels rebellious to use my own as a tool for slow thinking. And it has given me back something I worried I’d lost – the joy of exercising a mind that, after a long time of slack browsing, is finally waking up again.