I know women who can tell you exactly how many grams of protein they ate yesterday.

They read ingredient labels. They know whether their vegetables are organic, what is hiding in their skincare, whether their water has been filtered, and exactly what kind of milk is going into their morning coffee.

We have become remarkably sophisticated about consumption.

At least, some forms of it.

Because while we scrutinize what enters through our mouths and touches our skin, most of us consume an astonishing amount of something else every day without giving it nearly the same consideration.

Information.

Before our feet have touched the floor in the morning, we may already have taken in headlines, text messages, emails, social media posts, advertisements and someone else's opinion about something we weren't thinking about five minutes earlier.

By breakfast, the outside world has already entered the room.

And it keeps coming.

There are podcasts in the car, notifications at work, televisions playing in waiting rooms, conversations happening around us, breaking-news alerts, group texts, reels, commentary and the endless scroll waiting patiently in our pockets.

None of this is inherently bad. I love having the world's knowledge available to me in seconds as much as anyone.

But I have begun wondering whether we need to think about information the way we think about food.

Not in terms of good or bad.

In terms of nourishment.

Everything We Take In Leaves Something Behind

We already understand this intuitively.

Spend twenty minutes talking with someone who makes you laugh and notice how you feel afterward.

Now spend twenty minutes reading strangers arguing with one another online.

Different input. Different internal state.

Listen to beautiful music while you're making dinner. Then imagine preparing the same meal with a cable-news argument playing loudly in the background.

Watch something that makes you curious, hopeful or deeply moved. Compare that with an hour of content designed primarily to keep you outraged enough to continue watching.

Something changes.

Our attention is not a neutral passageway through which information travels without consequence. What we repeatedly expose ourselves to becomes part of the mental environment in which we live.

And yet we rarely ask the kinds of questions about information that we routinely ask about food.

Where did this come from?

Why was it made?

What is actually in it?

How much of it am I consuming?

And perhaps most importantly:

How do I feel after I consume it?

Your Attention Is Valuable

There is a reason so many digital products are competing for it.

Attention has become an extraordinarily valuable commodity, and enormous amounts of ingenuity are devoted to keeping ours for just a little longer.

One more headline. One more video. One more notification. One more swipe.

The result is not simply that we spend time looking at screens. It is that we can move through an entire day with remarkably little control over what gets invited into our consciousness.

Something catches our attention, which leads to something else, which leads to something else, and twenty minutes later we are emotionally involved in the divorce of two people we've never met.

That sentence may or may not have been inspired by personal experience.

The point isn't that we should abandon technology, delete every app or retreat into some pristine information vacuum. That isn't particularly realistic, nor do I think it is necessary.

The more interesting question is whether we are choosing what we consume or merely consuming what is presented to us.

There is a substantial difference.

Not Everything Deserves Access to You

This may be where mindfulness becomes much more practical than we sometimes imagine it to be.

Mindfulness doesn't have to begin with a meditation cushion.

It can begin with noticing.

Notice what you reach for when you have thirty unoccupied seconds.

Notice which accounts you habitually visit.

Notice what is playing in the background of your home.

Notice which conversations leave you energized and which leave you depleted.

Notice whether you are seeking information because you genuinely want it or because reaching for your phone has become an automatic response to stillness.

And perhaps notice how often someone else's urgency becomes yours simply because it appeared on your screen.

This isn't about constructing an echo chamber in which we encounter only ideas that make us comfortable. There is tremendous value in being challenged, learning something unfamiliar and engaging thoughtfully with perspectives different from our own.

Discernment is not avoidance.

It is deciding consciously what deserves your attention.

What Happens When We Stop Filling Every Space?

There is another kind of consumption we rarely discuss: our tendency to fill nearly every empty moment.

Waiting in line? Phone.

Stopped at a red light? Phone.

Walking the dog? Podcast.

Cooking dinner? Television.

Getting ready in the morning? Something playing in the background.

Even relaxation can become another opportunity to consume.

We have become so accustomed to constant input that a few minutes without it can feel strangely uncomfortable.

But those unfilled spaces once had a purpose.

They were where our minds wandered.

Where we noticed things.

Where ideas appeared unexpectedly.

Where we replayed conversations, solved problems, daydreamed, imagined, processed, wondered and occasionally stared out a window for no productive reason whatsoever.

Perhaps boredom wasn't always a problem requiring immediate treatment.

Perhaps sometimes it was simply space.

Try an Information Diet Without Going on a Diet

I am not proposing a seven-day digital detox.

In fact, I don't think we need another wellness challenge to complete successfully.

What interests me is something quieter: becoming curious about our consumption.

For a day, simply notice.

Notice what you read, watch and listen to. Notice whose voices occupy your attention. Notice what you reach for automatically. Notice how different forms of input make you feel afterward.

You don't even have to change anything.

Awareness tends to make its own changes eventually.

You may discover that the podcast you automatically play every morning actually energizes you.

You may realize that checking the news before getting out of bed doesn't.

You may find that certain conversations nourish you while others seem to follow you home.

You may discover that music changes the atmosphere of your kitchen.

Or that driving occasionally without anything playing at all feels unexpectedly luxurious.

The goal isn't to consume less simply for the sake of consuming less.

It is to consume more consciously.

Because our inner lives are shaped not only by what happens to us, but also by what we repeatedly allow our attention to rest upon.

We are careful about what we feed our bodies because we understand that nourishment matters.

Perhaps our minds deserve the same consideration.

And maybe, before reaching for the next thing to read, watch, hear or scroll through, there is one wonderfully simple question worth asking:

Do I actually want to let this in?