The Art of Redirecting Attention

Hundreds of millions of people in the world meditate in one way or another. Actually, if you include prayer as a form of meditation, the number is probably in the billions.

Most types of meditation involve directing one’s attention. It’s pretty simple, really. Instead of letting your mind wander, you choose to think about something. The “object” of attention might vary, depending on the type of meditation. but the basic mental “technique” is the same.

If you don’t meditate, here’s a one-paragraph short course on how to do it. First, pick a topic. Let’s say you choose “love for family”. Okay, close your eyes and let “love for family” come to mind. Feel your love for your family. Just the love part—not the dental appointments, financial matters, soccer game duties—just your feeling of love. In fact, when your mind does wander, gently bring it back. Whenever it wanders, bring it back. That is the whole point.

That act of redirecting attention is very, very neat.

Recognizing that you’ve wandered off to some other thought, as alluring as that other thought might be, and taking a “thanks, but no thanks” stance concerning it, can become a highly nuanced art that applies even when you are not meditating. But even more interesting, it clears space in the mind for a silent sense of self.

Solace

Our dog died last week. Actually, we euthanized her. I was there. I felt quite sad.

It’s a most remarkable thing: to be alive one moment, and then, for the rest of eternity, to not exist.

I’m not your traditional “man of faith”. I don’t really believe the dog went somewhere. I have faith that I will effectively deal with stuff, but I don't have faith in things like an afterlife.

On the other hand I do have a certain perspective that I call upon at times like this. I would like to share it with you.

People think in terms of three-dimensions-plus-time. That's pretty much a given. Kant even said it a few hundred years ago. That our brains take space and time as givens is built right into our consciousness. And, when someone dies, and time marches on as it does, we only have our memories.

Yup, that’s pretty sad.

But let’s incorporate a few more facts. Or, if you will, let’s look at the matter from the universe’s point of view.

Join me in thinking for a moment about how the universe is made up of not just 3 or 4 dimensions, but, at last count, according to what I've read, 11 dimensions. Yes, if you haven’t heard this before, mathematicians, physicists and others operate on the principle that there are more dimensions in our world than height, width, depth, and time. Some say, for example, that space is somehow “curled up” in the other dimensions at some deeper, perhaps sub-atomic, level. It is certainly over my head.

But what’s not over my head is this: if you imagine the universe and all of its dimensions as just some incredibly big thing, as ONE big thing — all of the past, all of the future, all of the dimensions — gosh darned, just existence itself — then everything just “is”. It's not that there is no time, it's that the past, present, and future are just one thing, one dimension--interwoven with all the other dimensions into one hugely big thing.

So, my dog is not gone. She continues to exist in the universe. Sure, from my narrow, human view there’s an “oh-my-god-she’s-gone” reaction; but, from the universe’s point of view — nope. Rosie is still here. Always was. Always will be.

Managing Temptation

Here’s a useful angle on the age-old problem of doing “bad” things when we know we “shouldn’t”.

For example, let’s say I have an impulse to eat that chocolate brownie over there. I know I promised myself I wouldn’t, but surely just the one won’t hurt.

The problem is that there is a module in my brain that is motivated for quick gratification. The module has been good for the species (as in, take it now in case I can't have it later). This module is likely to rule the day (in my case, at least).

However, there’s another module in my brain that argues from a somewhat more long-term, or big-picture, orientation: Getting fat from brownies has many undesirable consequences. Basically, some big part of me prefers not to eat brownies.

These two modules, the visceral “eat it now” disposition, and the long-term-rational preference not to, actually come from different parts of the brain. Presumably the challenge is to help the longer-term thinker win.

According to cognitive scientists, if I truly want this thinker to win, I can use language to my advantage. Doing so won’t guarantee I’ll be able to override my impulses, but it will at least give me a fighting chance.

First, package up all the smart things you’re going to do in order to reach your long-term goal (e.g., abstain from buying brownies, eating brownies at work, and eating them at restaurants and other people's homes). Then, use the package to equip yourself with a counter argument for when temptation hits you and you say rational-but-simplistic things like “just one won’t hurt.”

Keith Stanovich, Canada Research Chair of Applied Cognitive Science at the University of Toronto, suggests, for example, “’Having a brownie today stands for having a brownie on every day of the future’. This rule makes it clear that having the brownie today totally thwarts our preeminent goal of dieting. If I have a brownie—even this one—my whole weight loss plan is threatened.”

What I like most about this approach is the notion of creating a representation. I am a big believer in the idea put forth by Piero Ferrucci that our consciousness takes the form of whatever is in front of it. The rule or package gives me a form to identify with, something to hold onto. When tempted, I can hook onto the rule—become the rule, in some sense. Rather than being a brownie eater, I can be a brownie abstainer.

Or a slow driver. Or a person who stands up for his rights. Or a committed marriage partner. Or a non-drinker on weekdays.