Attending
Much has been made about the toxic impact of the attention economy on our mental health, attention, relationships, even intelligence. (Not to mention the larger cultural atomization.) We have all likely experienced this first-hand to varying degrees. I certainly have.
Over the years I have implemented, and quickly abandoned, a myriad of psychological "hacks" and technological salves to help abate these effects. No phones in the bedroom, reading physical books, meditation apps, aggressive screen time filters... two years ago I even went a month without a smart phone.
Unfortunately, what all of those experiments made clear was what I already knew: we're deeply wired for distraction, terrified of boredom, and long for meaningful connection. The modern technological milieu hijacks the first and offers cheap approximations of the latter two in exchange for mindlessly emptying out our bank accounts.
As I near the period of transition from creating life's vessel to filling it, settle into fatherhood, and enter a second decade of marriage I'm beginning to reconsider the bargain I've made with technology once again. Social media has been replaced by gamified banalities and the pull of mindless online consumption is as strong as it has ever been for me. But now it impacts more than my attention span and disposable income -- it short circuits my ability to attend to the most important things in my life.
This is made heartbreakingly real to me when my nearly two-year-old shouts long enough to finally break the spell the latest engrossing factoid about the war in Ukraine refreshing at a hypnotic 120 hertz has cast over me. When I look up my primal exasperation is met with an intense gaze that literally grabs my soul. My heart aches as my son's desire for connection with me becomes palpable and I realize that, even for a moment, I left him searching. There is no degree of distal connection or convenience that excuses such a physical, visceral disconnection.
I wish I could say that this moment, and all those it represents, was my moment of apotheoisis, a revelation in the abyss after which I hurled my smartphone into the ocean and was purified. Instead, I feel the journey has just begun. A call to adventure. After all, isn't life meant to be an adventure? A search for meaning, for community, for God. If only we can attend to it.