The poet, Mary Oliver, tells us that voluntary attention is the beginning of devotion and we know that involuntary attention --our startle reflexes-- evolved to enable survival. Attention is thus the birthplace of connection and critical to our wellbeing as humans.
The advent of attention-shredding technology is recent and rampant, a commodification which exploits our biology (fearful vigilance and loving focus) for profit. In this climate of innovation, we are assailed by agnostic, risk-indifferent baiting which seeks to capture our attention.
We become habituated to diversions which interrupt our ability to have a rich sensory experience of the world. As with any addiction, heeding the pull of social media or our phones soothes the discomfort of being alive. The rub is that regularly ceding our attention to the compulsion of the moment ultimately leaves us fundamentally bereft.
How do we evade the sirens' song when it is no longer confined to a rock in the sea? When lashing ourselves to the mast and stuffing cotton in our ears is no way to live a life? How do we evade shipwreck as we seek passage through this hunger with its legacy of alienation?
Chris Hayes, Oliver Burkeman, and Jonathan Haidt have written books on the subject. Ironically, I haven't paid them much mind. Predatory competition for our attention exacerbates an age-old paradox-- we are not always interested in what we have a vested interest in.
The consequence of our aggregate hijacked attention is one of the most pressing issues we face, one that will require a personal and societal reckoning. It's just that there are so many romance novels to read in the meantime.
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