Notice the Attention Grabbers

A person’s attention is a valuable and finite resource, and so, any claim to it must be made with care. A person, a company, or any other entity should not be able to unilaterally decide to grab my attention, without a really good reason for it (making money off of me not being such a reason). —Pavel Brodsky

Life has taken hold and run away with my time and attention the past couple of weeks. I don't like to use the excuse of "busy" to explain my lack of focus. That excuse is overused, and in my opinion, it's become meaningless. Do you know anyone who doesn't have countless distractors vying for their attention?

It's inevitable seasons will come along when our attention is not our own. That's okay. Life happens. I'm thankful I still have the mental and physical capacity to be busy when it's necessary.

However, the unavoidable busy seasons make it essential we recognize what's worth directing our attention toward so we can notice the attention grabbers—those things surrounding us that steal our attention without our consent—and put in the efforts to reclaim that attention, take possession of it, own it.

Recently I read Alan Jacobs's blog The Homebound Symphony where he mentioned having an "attention cottage," a place to withdraw "for refreshment and clarification—and then . . . return to the pressures of the moment more effectively. . . . Our attention cottage should be our home, our secure base."

When I first read Jacobs's thoughts, I related his idea to setting up the perfect physical space for intentional focus. I understand the importance of setting aside a spot to concentrate on my craft and its process.

I've long had such a space of my own for contemplation and reflection, a place to write and to edit. However, even in that solitary place, I'm often distracted.

After reading Jacobs's essay, I realized he wrote of something much deeper than a physical space. His description got me longing to improve upon my inner "attention cottage," to be able to rebalance and reclaim my personal attention, no matter my location.

It's often difficult to recognize when our attention has been seized. Things are carefully orchestrated to manipulate it. The world has decided it has all rights to it, that it deserves our attention. We've allowed others to determine what we'll focus on, how immediately reachable and available we should be.

Modern technology—such as social media, text messages, and email—plays a prevailing and pervasive role in our distraction. I'm not condemning the progress from which we've gained unlimited benefits, but it is something we can choose to use more responsibly.

Tech isn't the only offender, though. We're inundated with advertisements that claim our attention. Nearly every available surface is plastered with them. They've become harder to avoid and just as difficult to look away from.

"The fields of view that haven't been claimed for commerce seem to be getting fewer and narrower." —Michael Crawford, The World Beyond Your Head, page 10

I don't know all the solutions to avoid the intrusions, but I'm trying to be more purposeful in noticing and understanding what's near me. To begin to recognize when things are sucking me in, keeping me from what I value.

I'm learning to decrease my multitasking, remembering what it's like to give my full attention to a single task until it's complete. I've felt my mental chatter lessen and my focus sharpen when I'm attentive to only one thing.

I'm striving to be fully present when I'm interacting with someone face-to-face, to notice things I can compliment, things I can discuss that are important to them, to make that person feel seen, to bring a smile to their face.

Michael Crawford writes in The World Beyond Your Head, we should have a "right not to be addressed. This would apply not . . . to those who address me face-to-face as individuals, but to those who never show their face" (page 13).

I think we've forgotten the importance and usefulness of the public spaces, the open spaces, where real-life interactions happen. The spaces where we have an opportunity to quiet the external, intrusive noise by looking one another in the eye and engaging in thought-filled conversation. The spaces where we relearn what it means to share and to care.

Ultimately, I want to master my power to attend, to attain what Jacobs describes as a secure base, a sensation of being home, a mental state where I'm more often in control of my attention, whether I'm alone in my secluded work space or in my community amongst the crowds.

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