On sensory gluts & week 47 of 52
reducing distraction and reclaiming focus
A few folks have asked what will happen after I hit 52 weeks. If I step out of the experiment portal, and I’m still embodied, the answer is clear. I will go back to writing about writing with philosophy and leadership weaved in because, well, the writing life encompasses it all. That’s the beauty of it. And I will explore new ways of approaching the craft and the business of writing as the world changes. As we navigate these turbulent waters, I will also candidly share the perils and joys of releasing what’s personal and vulnerable, and I hope you will revel with me in the delicious inefficiency of it all.
For now, let’s talk about distraction.
Lately, I’ve been feeling like my mother’s cat, Winston. He has a habit of running back and forth, attacking plastic bags and fake mice only to skid to a halt with drama as though remembering the value of watching the mid-afternoon light dance on the wall.
He stares a while, then goes back to his frantic ways.
I write this on the heels of a meet-up with a new artist friend. I sat in a cluttered cafe and watched as indulgent brunch items were delivered, glancing down at my notebook to catch a thought here and there. When she arrived, I had ten thousand things, more or less, on my mind.
I was eager to get to know this new friend, a transplant from elsewhere in the Midwest and a powerhouse artist. As we sat with tiny pots of tea in between us, we spoke about writing experiences and aspirations. The moments were immersive.
But after about an hour of pleasant conversation, I lost my train of thought and went back to the internal race after plastic bags and fake mice. My to-do list loomed. It was a total blackout from the moment, even though it only lasted a short time. My new friend pulled me back by reminding me where I’d left off.
Where did I go in that instant?
Scattered is a loud symptom when we’re in a sensory glut so much of the time. The tricky thing is that hyperattention can sometimes feel like it, but it is not mindful attention. And it’s not creative attention. It’s more like trying to feel everything at once.
We are all in a mode of cognitive switching all the time—going from phone notification to social post to our endless to-do lists.
I will admit that I sometimes get smug and think this is everyone else—not me. I meditate, practice gratitude … I do all the things.
When I walk around campus and see student after student with heads down, fingers swiping content, passing each other with near misses (and sometimes collisions), I feel sorry for them. Sometimes it’s professors and staff. But, increasingly, I am noticing myself doing this.
This comes with practice. The more we practice, the more we notice our own patterns.
It’s easy to say, “Be mindful.” It’s easy to practice with intention on the meditation pillow. And I often say, “Make time to go deep into the creative process.” But to be part of the world and fully embodied means not having to meet every call for attention or having to entertain every piece of information thrust upon us. And it means facing that fact that it’s us, too.
Mindful creativity is not complex to understand. It simply means listening patiently to oneself and others. Patience is power right now. It’s also a gift. I realize, after some contemplation, that my little blackout moment was about pulling the same urgency and excess to in-person interactions that I feel online.
It was a simple clarifying reminder.
We cannot digest it all. We do not have to.
I have not given myself time to slow and still. By not giving myself time, I have not been able to reset. So here’s what I’m going to do. Maybe, if you’ve felt this way yourself, we can do this together.
Stare at the wall, daydream, find boredom, find nothing at all, pet your dog, say hello to yourself, look in the mirror, look around, find something new, look at the backs of your eyelids, take a walk. No tech. No conversation. No stimulus other than you and the world. Practice stillness.
A student told me about this, and I just downloaded it. While it seems like another app would be a bad thing, using this one on your phone and planting a tree (the app does it) can actually help to hold you accountable.
Imagine a giant RESET button being pressed. Now answer this question in writing: How does the world move when I become truly still?
Let me know how this goes. Wishing you all good things.