The Subtle Art of Paying Attention

I begin each day in an unusual way. After violently silencing my alarm and crawling out of bed, I stumble to my desk and set a timer for ten minutes.

I sit down, close my eyes and focus on the physical sensations associated with my breath. Next, I widen my attention to encompass bodily sensations, sounds in the room, and the symphony of colour behind my eyelids. Soon enough, I lose myself in thought, at which point I reflexively berate myself for being a bad meditator. Over time, I’ve learned to do something critical at this inflection point: notice my lack of awareness. To catch myself unconsciously immersed in a train of thought is precisely the point of meditation. Each renewal of attention is like a repetition at the gym. The thoughts that perpetually hijack my attention, though mysterious in origin, invariably take the form of an image or a piece of language. So I note the thought’s presence, watch it closely as it inevitably evaporates, and then re-anchor myself to the present. Once I’ve done so, I usually commend myself for being a good meditator. Then I notice that. Self-praise is just another thought. Bloody hell. Back to square one.

Often, a strong feeling such as sleepiness, anxiety or restlessness emerges in my mind. When this occurs, I ask a simple question: what is the physical signature of this emotion? What is anxiety, as a constellation of bodily sensations? Am I holding tension in my jaw? Am I furrowing my brow? Is my breathing tight and uneasy? These questions, when asked with genuine interest, reveal something profound. An emotion can only corrupt my conscious experience insofar as its existence is covert. Its emotional flavour can only flood my mind until I illuminate it with the spotlight of attention. Attention is anathema to anxiety. Presence is the enemy of ego. To investigate the physical character of an emotion with curiosity, rather than judgement, is to strip it of its tyrannical power.

My daily routine, which I’ve stuck to for almost six years, has revealed two important truths which – though self-evident in hindsight – have radically changed how I interact with the world.

The first is obvious: consciousness, whether an epiphenomenon of cognition or something more fundamental, is the force which animates everything. To train your mind through meditation is to fine-tune the lens which filters your every experience. Maybe a fit of anger can shrink from three hours to fifteen minutes, through the mere re-deployment of attention. Maybe your partner’s outburst can be met with empathy, rather than defensiveness. Maybe you can more rapidly escape from the toxic trance of pride, or shame. When harnessed skillfully, mindfulness is a sort of super power, which seeps into all domains of life.

The second truth approximates a Buddhist axiom: all suffering derives from an inability to collide with this moment. Negative emotions flourish in a state of rumination or anticipation. Think about the last time you were angry, anxious, or sad. Were you fully engaged in the reality of your circumstances in that moment? Or was your consciousness tainted by a memory of the past, or a concern about the future? Meditation has taught me to short this circuit sooner, and to be more content where I am.

THE EVIDENCE

Does science support my claims? Before providing a teaser of the meditation literature, I’ll share a useful analogy from Michael Pollan’s book “How to Change Your Mind.”

Imagine your brain as a ski-hill, where habitual thought-loops are well-worn paths down the mountain, formed by countless runs down the hill. When confronting the hill, skiers have no choice but to follow the beaten path. This is analogous to the neural basis for depressive, anxious, or addictive thought patterns. These afflictions are borne of seemingly inescapable chains of thought which once initiated, propagate like a fixed sequence of dominos.

The neural network which mediates such thought patterns, the default mode network, is well understood. Recent research indicates that this network is hyperactive in people with major depression1 and anxiety disorders2. Turning this network off has profound effects on mental health. Among the ways of turning the dial down on this circuit is – you guessed it – meditation3.

WHERE DO I START?

For most people, some initial instruction is very useful. I highly recommend this guided meditation by Tara Brach, one of the best meditation teachers on the planet:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElqvedaxxSA

If you’re interested in further exploring these topics, see Tara’s interview with Tim Ferriss, and her excellent book “Radical Acceptance.”

If you have some experience meditating, but feel like your practice is stuck in a rut, try Sam Harris’ mind-bending guided meditation:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CN-_zzHpcdM&t=2s

It sparked a phase shift improvement in my practice. I also highly recommend Sam’s course, The Waking Up Course, which is the best meditation app I’ve used. Headspace, Calm, and Oak are also excellent apps if you want to track your progress.

1. Sheline, Y. I., Barch, D. M., Price, J. L., Rundle, M. M., Vaishnavi, S. N., Snyder, A. Z., … & Raichle, M. E. (2009). The default mode network and self-referential processes in depression. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 106(6), 1942-1947.(1)

2. Maresh, E. L., Allen, J. P., & Coan, J. A. (2014). Increased default mode network activity in socially anxious individuals during reward processing. Biology of mood & anxiety disorders, 4(1), 7.

3. Brewer, J. A., Worhunsky, P. D., Gray, J. R., Tang, Y. Y., Weber, J., & Kober, H. (2011). Meditation experience is associated with differences in default mode network activity and connectivity. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 108(50), 20254-20259.