Three Simple Ways to Pay Attention
Practicing meditation doesn’t
involve a whole new set of skills. It works so well, Sharon Salzberg
says, because it enhances life skills we already have.
By
Sharon Salzberg
Illustrations by Adrian Johnson
The most common
response I hear these days when I tell someone I teach meditation is
“I’m so stressed out. I could really use some of that.” I am also amused
to hear fairly often “My friend should really meet you!” I’m happy to
see that meditation is known more and more as something that could be
directly helpful in our day-to-day lives. Anywhere stress plays a role
in our problems, meditation can have a potential role in its relief.
Meditation practice need not be tied to any belief system.
The only necessary belief is not a dogmatic one, but one that says each
of us has the capacity to understand ourselves more fully, and to care
more deeply both for ourselves and for others. Its methods work to free
us of habitual reactions that cause us great unhappiness, such as harsh
self-judgment, and to develop wisdom and love. Meditation gives anybody
who pursues it an opportunity to look within for a sense of abundance,
depth, and connection to life.
Rather than an ornate, arcane set of instructions, basic
meditation consists of practical tools to help deepen concentration,
mindfulness, and compassion.
1. Concentration
Concentration is the art of gathering all that energy, that stormy, scattered attention, and settling, centering.
Concentration steadies and focuses our attention so that
we can let go of unhealthy inner distractions— regrets about the past,
worries about the future, addictions— and keep from being seduced by
outer ones. Distraction wastes our energy; concentration restores it.
We often experience our attention scattering to the four
winds. We sit down to think something through or work through a dilemma,
and before we know it, we’re gone. We’re lost in thoughts of the past,
often about something we now regret: “I should have said that more
skillfully.” “I should have been less timid and spoken up.” “I should
have been wiser and shut up.” We aren’t thinking things through to find a
means to make amends. We’re just lost.
Or our distractedness propels us into anxiety-filled
projections about the future. Imagine you are sitting in an airplane at
one of the New York City airports. Suddenly you start thinking, “Oh no, I
think this plane might leave late. I’m sure it will be late. Now I’m
going to miss my connection. What will that mean? That means I’m going
to arrive in Portland, Oregon, after midnight. There won’t be any cabs!
What’s going to happen to me?” It’s as though Portland were famous for
having people vanish if they land after midnight!
Without concentration, our minds spin off into the future
in a way that isn’t like skillful planning but more like exhausting
rumination. When I see my own mind beginning that arc of anxiety, I have
a saying I use to help restore me to balance: “Something will happen.”
There will be a bus. I’ll spend the night in the airport. Something will
happen. I can’t figure it all out right now.
Concentration is the art of gathering all of that energy,
that stormy, scattered attention, and settling, centering. Someone came
up to talk to me recently when I was teaching, protesting my use of the
word concentration. He said it reminded him of repression, as though he
were squeezing his attention onto something, resisting and resenting
anything else that came up to pull his attention away. I asked him if
steadying or settling would be good replacements, and he happily
accepted them. That’s what concentration actually means. It’s not a
forced, tense, strained effort. It’s letting things settle on what is at
hand.
2. Mindfulness
Mindfulness refines our attention so that we can connect
more fully and directly with whatever life brings. So many times our
perception of what is happening is distorted by bias, habits, fears, or
desires. Mindfulness helps us see through these and be much more aware
of what actually is.
Imagine you’re on your way to a party when you run into a
friend who mentions an earlier meeting he had with your new colleague.
He says, “That person is so boring!” Once at the party, who do you find
yourself stuck talking to but that new colleague! Because of your
friend’s comment (not even your own perception), you end up not really
listening carefully to them or looking fully at them. More likely you
are thinking about the next 15 emails you need to send or fretting as
you gaze about the room and see so many people you’d rather be talking
to. Everything this person is saying increases your ire and frustration.
But if you realize what’s going on, it might be that you
drop the filter of your friend’s comment and determine to find out for
yourself, from your own direct experience, what you think of your new
colleague. You listen, you observe, you are open-minded, interested. By
the end of the evening you might decide, “I concur. I find that person
really boring.” But perhaps not; life also provides many surprises.
What’s important is that we’re not merely guided by what we’ve been
told, by the beliefs of others, by dogma or prejudice or assumption.
Instead, we shape our impression with as clear and open a perception as
possible.
Mindfulness does not depend on what is happening, but is
about how we relate to what is happening. That’s why we say that
mindfulness can go anywhere. We can be mindful of joy and sorrow,
pleasure and pain, beautiful music and a screech. Mindfulness doesn’t
mean these all flatten out and become one big blob, without distinction
or intensity or flavor or texture. Rather, it means that old habitual
ways of relating—perhaps holding on fiercely to pleasure, so that,
ironically, we are actually enjoying it less; or resenting and pushing
away pain, so that, sadly, we suffer a lot more; or numbing out,
disconnecting from ordinary, not very exciting experiences, so that
we’re half in a dream a lot of the time. All these self-defeating,
limiting reactions don’t have to be there.
We can easily misunderstand mindfulness and think of it as
passive, complacent, even a bit dull. I was teaching somewhere recently
and began the formal meditation instruction, as I often do, with the
suggestion to simply sit in a relaxed way and listen to the sounds in
the room. Someone raised his hand right away and asked, “If I hear the
sound of the smoke alarm, should I just sit here ‘mindfully,’ knowing
I’m hearing the smoke alarm go off, or should I get up and leave?” I
responded, “I’d ‘mindfully’ get up and leave!”
I understood his question. When we hear phrases commonly
used to describe mindfulness, like “just be with what is,” “accept the
present moment,” “don’t get lost in judgment,” it can sound pretty
inert. But the actual experience of mindfulness is of vibrant, alive,
open space where creative responses to situations have room to arise,
precisely because we’re not stuck in the well-worn grooves of the same
old habitual reactions. In mindfulness, we don’t lose discernment and
intelligence. These qualities, in fact, become more acute as stale
preconceptions and automatic, rigid responses no longer rule the day.
3. Compassion
Compassion opens our attention and makes it more
inclusive, transforming the way we view ourselves and the world. Instead
of being so caught up in the construct of self and other and us and
them that we tend to see the world through, we see things much more in
terms of connection to all. This fundamental transformation from
alienation begins with more kindness to ourselves.
Then comes the moment we realize we’ve been distracted.
Our common response would be to feel that we’ve failed, to rail against
ourselves. What we practice, though, is letting go gently rather than
harshly and returning to the breath or our object of concentration with
kindness and compassion for ourselves. Thus, those qualities of
compassion and kindness deepen even if we don’t give voice to those
words.
And what we do for ourselves, we can also begin to do
toward others. A few years ago I was on my way to Tucson, but my plans
were challenged when I found myself in an airplane sitting on a runway
for four and a half hours at La Guardia Airport. Looking back on it, I
sometimes refer jokingly to those hours as “the breakdown of
civilization.” It was hot, and it grew hotter. After a point, people
starting yelling, “Let me off this plane!” The pilot resorted to getting
on the PA system and saying sternly, “No one is getting off this
plane.”
I wasn’t feeling all that chipper myself. I couldn’t get
in touch with the people in Tucson who were supposed to pick me up at
the airport, and I was concerned about them. I had an apartment to go to
in New York City and kept thinking, to no avail, “I can just go back
there and try again tomorrow.” I was hot. I felt pummeled by the people
shouting around me.
Then I recalled an image that a good friend of mine, Bob
Thurman, author of Infinite Life: Seven Virtues for Living Well, often
uses to describe the flow of kindness and compassion that comes from
seeing the world more truthfully. He says, “Imagine you are on the New
York City subway, and these Martians come and zap the subway car so that
those of you in the car are going to be together…forever.” What do we
do? If someone is hungry, we feed them. If someone is freaking out, we
try to calm them down. We might not like everybody or approve of them,
but we are going to be together forever. So we need to respond with the
wisdom of how interrelated our lives are—and will remain.
Sitting on that airplane, I recalled my friend’s story. I
looked around the cabin and thought, “Maybe these are my people.” I saw
my worldview shift from “me” and “them” to “we.” The claustrophobia
eased.
In terms of meditative understanding (in contrast to our
usual way of thinking, which might regard these qualities as gifts we
can do nothing to cultivate or as immediate emotional reactions we enjoy
but can’t stabilize), kindness and compassion are indeed skills we
develop. Not in the sense of forcing ourselves to feel, or even worse,
pretend to feel, an emotion that is not there. Instead, if we learn to
pay attention in a different, more open way—seeing the good within
ourselves instead of fixating on what we don’t like, noticing those we
usually ignore or look right through, letting go of categories and
assumptions when we relate to others—we are creating the conditions for
kindness and compassion to flow.
We practice meditation in the end not to become great
meditators but to have a different life. As we deepen the skills of
concentration, mindfulness, and compassion, we find we have less stress,
more fulfillment, more insight, and vastly more happiness. We transform
our lives.