Column
Attention is deep hunger in all of us
By JEANNETTE BATZ
I paid attention to the sausages
this morning. Tended each one individually, rolling it carefully onto the white
side strip and gently supporting with the spatula until the grease sizzled it
as all-over brown as a nudist in the tropics. Usually I plunk the links into
the frying pan and abandon them, desperate to smell coffee. But this was one of
those graced, unhurried mornings when I’d slept well and loved the world.
So as the sun streamed into our black-and-white ’40s kitchen, I took --
reclaimed -- my time.
Most days, I forget that such serenity is possible. I tear through
the daily chores propelled by the beep of the microwave, the buzz of the timer,
the hiss of the waiting iron. Yet when I do slow down, I catch the
present-tense rhythm of these simple tasks, and what was drudgery becomes a
chance to pay attention to what sustains us.
“Attention is love,” writes poet Marge Piercy. We know
this when we hear a teary friend on the answering machine and cancel our plans
for the evening. We know it with the 100th “Watch this!” as our
daughter learns to dive. Animals, plants, children, husbands -- they all thrive
on attention.
Modern life drains it. It pulls us a million directions, expecting
us to be tuned in, plugged in, cordlessly connected to everything and as a
result, incapable of paying close, quiet attention to anything. We look for
services we can buy; meals we can microwave; machines that operate while
we’re doing something else.
Meanwhile, we argue about the number of children with attention
deficit disorder -- a cognitive pattern that’s existed forever but has
become far more problematic because we’re placing our kids in a crowded,
hyperstimulating world without enough attention from anybody and asking them to
focus. The cause seems to be biological. Medicine does help, so does therapy
and adjusting the environment. But what also helps is attention itself. These
children seem to do better when someone is right at their side or when they
have a teacher’s undivided attention. One-on-one, steady guidance and
praise, an influx of mental energy that works like an outstretched hand,
helping the child jump across the neural gaps without slipping.
Attention is a deep hunger in all of us, one we learn to mock as
we “mature.” We laugh at the little kids dancing to show off, the
salesmen swinging from chandeliers, the old folk telling their progressively
taller tales. But isn’t humanity’s need for attention the appeal of a
personal God? Isn’t that what we mean when we say God sees each sparrow
fall, clothes each lily, knows each human person intimately and makes a place
for her in God’s heart?
If someone is paying attention to us, we know we must be worth
attending to. If we are the fruit of God’s creation and the recipients of
God’s glorious gaze, we need not fear the future. Freed of skittering
doubts, we can focus long enough to pay attention to someone else.
And that, after all, is how love travels.
Jeannette Batz is a staff writer for The Riverfront Times,
an alternative newspaper in St. Louis.
National Catholic Reporter, November 12,
1999
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