What Gets Your Attention?

What gets your attention? Even more importantly, what holds your attention? For many of us now, it's the shocking, the sad, the abhorrent. But a constant attention diet of bad almost by definition isn't good for us. We need to remind ourselves to notice the good, the delightful, the lovely, the ennobling, and when we see it, take it in. Allow it to hover and stay with you a bit. We become like the people we're around. We've long known that. But we're also formed deeply by what habitually gains and holds our attention.

What happens to us can carve, paint, and compose us, as we react and respond. Our thoughts matter, as well as our emotions, and the attitudes that we develop over time. And as the wise Dumbledore tells Harry Potter, it’s our choices that most make us into who we become, far more than our inborn talents. And that’s something over which we can have control, as we grow our powers of control, from whatever tiny modicum a situation might allow us, under howling, pressing emotion, to the full sway of what we’re eventually capable. And attention is vital to that development. That’s why it’s been stressed by every major spiritual tradition. Take care how you choose to pay attention, because that can affect deeply the full measure of choice you gain for yourself. And it will color who you are.

Our Actions Matter

Our actions matter. All of them do. And that’s a lesson most often learned from the more unfortunate of our choices, rather than through the better things we produce. 

In the novel, A Place on Earth, by Wendell Berry, a father has long taught his son to farm, and the time has come to turn over a patch of land to the young man to let him plow and plant it on his own. The father is later reminiscing on the event, and ruminating on how much topsoil has been lost over the years to bad decisions—from mistakes he saw his own father make, as well as from his own misjudgments. He then tells what happened with his son:

“Anyhow, Virgil broke his ground farther over the brow of the hill than he should have. Like a boy, you know. Didn’t stop in time. But he got his rows laid off about right, and got his crop out—and I didn’t say anything, hoping he’d have luck and get that mistake free. Thought I’d show him later what he’d done wrong, soon as I could do it without hurting his feelings.

"But there was an awful rain one night after his crop had been out, I guess, two weeks. I heard it begin and lay listening to it, knowing what was bound to be happening. And the next morning I said, ‘Let’s go look at your crop.’ So we went, and walked all the way around it. It was hurt. Bound to have been. There’s no way to plow sideline ground so it’ll hold in a rain like that. ‘Virgil,’ I said, ‘this is your fault. This is one of your contributions to the world.’ That was hard for me to say. And he took it hard. I saw he was about to cry. And bad as I hated to do it, I let it work in him while we stood there and looked. I knew he was hating the day he ever thought of raising a crop, ready to give up. Finally I put my arm around him and I said, ‘Be sorry, but don’t quit. What’s asked of you now is to see what you’ve done, and learn better.’ And I told him that a man’s life is always dealing with permanence—that the most dangerous kind of irresponsibility is to think of your doings as temporary. That, anyhow, is what I’ve tried to keep before myself. What you do on the earth, the earth makes permanent.”

I love the words: Be sorry, but don’t quit. What’s asked of you now is to see what you’ve done and learn better.

We can recover from most mistakes. But the world somehow records them all. And that’s a serious thought. Equally important is the idea that we’ll all make mistakes, and our job then is to keep going, learn, and improve. We’re not here with the expectation of perfection, only with the hope of improvement. Our actions do matter. One way or another, they're all permanent. And we have to live with that fact.

Being. Doing. Becoming.

Ok. If you can forgive me one enigmatic, aphoristic, epigrammatic, semi-oracular indulgence, I'll wax existential for a few moments in a nearly tweetological form, in hopes of sparking some new realizations. This is for leaders. This is for achievers. This is for everyone. So, here goes. Where the metaphysical meets the moral, we find a moving structure.

To be, to do, and to become: in that order, and then it all recurs.

To be is about the present. It’s a dynamic and contemporaneous state.

To do moves into the future, bringing the past and present to bear.

To be is given to us, at one level, and dependent on us, at another, which is the use we make of the gift.

To do is to become. Action is accretion. Even non-action is the doing of refraining, and this also molds the clay.

Becoming is what being and doing are for.

Doing and becoming await our initiative. Being precedes it and is poured into the process that then either enriches or diminishes it.

Becoming can be obvious, or mysteriously subtle.

Becoming is sometimes hidden until it bursts forth in its form.

Being. Doing. Becoming. The cycle continues whether we're awake or asleep, attentive or distracted, wise or foolish, concerned or careless, willing or rebellious, desirous or not.

We need to understand this process. And then, use it well.