74 times a day.
That’s how often the average American checks their email.
Every 5 minutes.
That’s how often the average Slack user checks their messages.
Most of us respond to this compulsive need to check in one of two ways. We either give in completely and live as captives to the ping. Or we fight our desire with discipline—digital detoxes or screen time limits. But those tools only attack the symptom, leaving the underlying cause intact. Once the diet ends, people often relapse.
Here’s the thing: The checking isn’t about email. Or Slack. Or the stock market. Or DMs.
It’s about your nervous system.
When you check, you’re not really seeking information. You’re seeking regulation.
Your digital distractions are adult pacifiers.
You reach for them because the act of checking promises comfort—like a pacifier in the mouth of a restless child.
Right before you check, a stream of anxious thoughts tugs at you:
“Maybe someone replied.”
“Maybe the numbers moved.”
“Maybe there’s something I missed.”
That’s the adult mental spin. But peel back one more layer, and you’ll find a younger version of you asking, with childlike urgency:
“Am I safe? Do I matter?”
That’s what the checking is really about.
And for a moment, it works. You get a flicker of relief. A tiny hit of “see, you’re in control, you do matter.”
This isn’t a personal failing. It’s actually ingenious. Your nervous system has hacked itself into a momentary sense of safety.
But it’s also exhausting. Because it doesn’t reliably deliver the safety it promises. It’s like putting a band-aid on an existential wound. That’s why the relief doesn’t last.
Which brings us to the critical shift—from checking to radiating.
When you check, there’s often an emptiness behind it. A question mark that asks, “Am I being chosen?” “Did they like what I said?” “Will this make me feel whole again?”
Checking puts your power outside yourself. It places your safety in someone else’s hands. It’s hungry. It waits. And it often loops in disappointment, because the return signal is outside your control.
Radiating, on the other hand, starts within. It means anchoring in your own signal instead of waiting for one to arrive. It comes from the place that knows: I already am.
It says: “Here’s what I find interesting,” “I’ll consume less and create more,” or “This light is mine to give, whether or not someone else mirrors it back.”
So next time you feel the twitch to check, pause. Ask yourself, How do I radiate instead?
That could be:
- Send an unexpected note of love or appreciation to someone.
- Take five slow, deliberate breaths away from your computer, feeling the force of life within you.
- Put on a favorite song and dance for two minutes.
Or anything else that makes you feel like the source instead of the seeker.
Checking says, “Please reflect me back.”
Radiating says, “I’ll show up anyway.”
And what’s wild is: When you radiate without expectation, the reflections you were reaching for often arrive by themselves. But now, they’re just a bonus—not the proof of your worth.
When you shift from checking to radiating, you stop begging for signals.
You become the signal.
P.S. Technology itself can become part of this shift. Used unconsciously, it keeps us trapped in the loop—check, refresh, repeat. Used intentionally, it can flip the script.
I often use AI to trigger the shift from checking to radiating—helping me create instead of consume and amplify my own signal instead of chasing someone else’s.
In my free masterclass, I’ll show you how I use AI to flip technology from pacifier to amplifier—and how you can too. You’ll also learn how to get limited-time access to my online course, The AI Advantage.
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