I’ve collected things my whole life. Action figures. Pokémon cards. Baseball cards. Pins (like lapel pins). Pens. There was even a six-month stretch where I knew way too much about the intricacies of Japanese and German kitchen knives. That hyperfixation loop—learn everything, hoard, get bored, move on—is familiar to a lot of people living with ADHD. It’s how I’m wired. I don’t just get interested in things; I absorb them, live inside them… and then, one day when the dopamine hit starts to lose its luster, I wake up over it. Whatever “it” is, becomes a closed chapter on a shelf, sometimes literally. I don’t care anymore; it’s that simple and literally that abrupt.

Photo by Chris Antzoulis - Yeah, those are all pins

But watches seem to be sticking.

Watch collecting has lasted much longer than anything else, around four or five years now. It’s not just the mechanics, the history, the design language, or the thrill of the hunt—though those things do light up my brain like a pinball machine. It’s that watches, unlike most collectibles, don’t stay tucked away in a display case. They go with you. They’re worn, not just admired. You glance at your wrist during a hard conversation or while you’re stuck on the couch because your dog decided to nap on top of you. It’s always there, quietly marking time alongside you. And because my brain is wired the way it is, my memory is photographic, so all those small, wonderful moments are bookmarked by the watch on my wrist. Suddenly, an emotion is attached to the object.

Photo by Amanda Schuessler of Chris and Phantom

I was wearing my Vertex M100A when I met Iman, my podcast partner, whom I adore. My Hamilton Murph was on my wrist the day I brought my dog, Phantom, home from her foster. The BB58 Bronze left a little green sweat ring on my wrist the day one of my best friends called to tell me he had cancer, and it stayed there the first time I visited him at the hospital. We joked about how the color of the chemo reminded me of some crazy flavor Mountain Dew would come out with, and I suggested that Baja Blast might actually cure him faster and more effectively.

That last example is exactly what’s been pulling my attention away from a lot of things lately. This is the longest friendship I’ve ever had—going on 20 years now—and I don’t think I’ve ever been more frustrated with the way my brain works than I am right now.

When you have ADHD, “out of sight, out of mind” isn’t just a cute phrase—it’s a brutal reality. It’s not that I forget people or things stop existing the second they’re not in front of me (I do understand object permanence, thank you very much). It’s just that my brain stops tracking them. If something isn’t visible, loud, or on fire, it gets quietly booted from the queue in favor of whatever is.

That’s ADHD in action—working memory and attention doing their chaotic thing. Put a bill in a drawer? It might as well have fallen into a black hole. Miss a text notification? Poof—gone. This kind of mental blindspot leads to dropped conversations, half-finished tasks, and worst of all, making the people I love feel like I’ve forgotten them. Like they don’t matter. And it’s so hard to explain that I do care, deeply—but unless something is right there waving its arms, my brain might not hold onto it.

I know I’m going long on this, but hang with me.

For the last few months, I’ve been driving the three-and-a-half-ish hours to see this friend whenever I can. Every visit, we fall right back into our rhythm, like no time has passed. That bond is still there, solid. But keeping that connection alive—especially while juggling work, life, and my own noisy mind—has been tough.

What’s helped more than I expected is the watch world. The daily conversations with other collectors, the projects I’ve been lucky enough to work on with brands and publications—they’ve kept me grounded. These little touchpoints have acted like anchors when my head wants to drift off into orbit. Watches have given me a space in my mind to settle into, so I can be present when I need to be present. They’ve helped keep me steady when I’d otherwise be spiraling.

Photo by Alexa Emma of Chris and Carl (@watchrunner80)

It’s not just about the object. That’s been said before, often with sweeping sentimentality and misty-eyed community praise. I get it—watch people are special. But for me, it’s more tactical than that. Watch collecting gives me a structure. It gives me reasons to show up, to engage, to leave the house. There are events, meetups, forums, podcasts. There are people who get it—who get me—without me needing to explain why I know the difference between grade 2 and grade 5 titanium, or how many Seiko reference numbers I can rattle off. The watch world offers me a rotating door of stimulation and consistency. That combination is rare—and essential.

Living with ADHD is like trying to steer a car with a gas pedal but no brakes. It’s exhilarating, frustrating, and often exhausting. Focus doesn’t come easy, and when it does, it tends to arrive in obsessive bursts. Having a hobby that lets me indulge that obsession without judgment—and one that has enough depth to keep me coming back—has been huge for my mental health.

But it’s not just a dopamine faucet. It’s also about identity. I’m not just a guy with ADHD and anxiety trying to stay above water. I’m a collector. A writer. A contributor. I’m someone who gets to have conversations with watchmakers, trade stories at meetups, and nerd out with other enthusiasts online. These interactions, no matter how small, add up. They build connection. And for someone who’s spent plenty of time inside their own head, that’s no small thing.

There’s also something strangely grounding about watches themselves. In a world that moves fast, where attention spans have the shelf life of a tweet, watches force you to slow down—just a little. You wind one. You listen to it tick. You watch the seconds hand sweep. It’s an analog comfort in a digital world. You start to notice how much can happen in a minute. Or how nothing needs to happen at all.

There are still days where my brain races, where I lose track of what I’m supposed to be doing, or spiral into a rabbit hole I didn’t mean to fall into. But more often than not, I’ve got a watch on my wrist. And that tiny, ticking thing reminds me I’m still here. Still moving. Still collecting moments, if not things.

Watches didn’t cure my ADHD. They didn’t fix my mental health. But they’ve given me an outlet that keeps me curious, connected, and occasionally even calm. And that, to me, is worth every minute.

***If you’d like to read more articles on my mental health journey as it pertains to watches, you can check these out:

Time and Tide: A Tudor Black Bay Bronze 58 became my milestone watch to celebrate taking charge of my mental health

PoppingCrowns: Watch Collecting and ADHD: The Ballad of the Cocaine Squirrel and the Shiny Things