The Power of Attention

When I was a distance runner in high school and for several years after, the game was mental. Perhaps this is why I chose the sport: I liked the competition against my own mind, against the voice that told me I couldn’t go any further, against the voice that told me I should stop and rest. Step by step, mile by mile I would put that voice to the test. Even when hills filled my line of vision, I learned how to keep moving, usually chasing a certain number of minutes of constant motion rather than miles: 25 minutes, 30 minutes, 45 minutes. 

One trick I learned for winning this mental game was not to think about the ultimate distance — or any distance marker, for that matter. Not even to think about the end of the run or the finish line. Focus instead on objects just a few yards away, especially when you get tired: that light pole, that tree, the stop sign at the corner. Keep your eyes down and don’t look too far ahead…the visual reminder of how far you have left to go will only exhaust you.

I relied on this advice regularly as a runner, learning to manage my gaze as much as I managed my form, my tempo and my breathing. Surprisingly, I often found that my mind followed my gaze, as did my form. Thinking too much about the next mile could lead to sloppy form, a panicked mind, a mad scramble through the route, not really paying attention to where I was stepping, not really seeing my surroundings. The more I learned to shift my gaze, the more in control I remained, the more careful I could be with my feet and the more in tune I felt with my breath.

I think similar advice could help us now, as we turn our collective gaze toward Washington. For years, one dramatic story after the next has pulled our attention toward the Capitol. This is appropriate to some degree, but sometimes I wonder if there’s a cost to this perpetual national gaze. Does looking too far ahead only exhaust us? Does it make it hard to notice everything that’s happening between here and there?

I’ve quoted her before and I’ll quote Mary Oliver again: “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” In six simple words, the poet reminds us of the power of attention. This truth sustains the fierce attention economy, the round-the-clock competition for our attention by social media companies, news corporations and various technologies — heck, even by billboards. Our attention is the commodity of the day. Whoever directs our attention shapes, to a significant degree, what we care about.

Right now, it’s all about November 5th. It’s an important day, rightly so. But what happens on November 6th? 7th? What happens when we finally hear the results? When we step away from the TV, from Twitter, when we finally put down our phones? What happens to all that energy, all that attention, all that…devotion? If experience is any indicator, no one will give us a break. Some other story will be ready to soak it all up…if we aren’t careful.

But the good news is, we can make choices. Consider what might be possible if we were to intentionally hop off the national news cycle and direct just a fraction of that attention to the little places that are passing us by in a blur: our own blocks, neighborhoods and towns. What could change if we used that energy to build relationships with our neighbors, to really get to know our council members, to take walks and notice the width of streets, the overgrown grass, the empty lots waiting for cultivation, or the small businesses that have recently opened and are thriving? What might happen if we showed up to volunteer, to speak at local council meetings or to serve on local boards? 

Voting nationally matters, but investing our attention locally is where we can really have an impact as citizens. It’s a source of hope when you think about it: If you’re happy about the results…pour that positive energy into your town. If you’re unhappy with the results, the good news is that you’re not as powerless as you might feel at that moment. There’s a neighbor somewhere who needs talking to. There’s a councilmember who could use your perspective, there’s a street with trash that needs picking up.

Many Strong Towns readers and members are doing these things already, and I think they’ve figured out the secret to surviving the long race: Manage your gaze. Don’t look too far ahead. Notice where your feet are planted in this moment, and take ownership of your attention.



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