If you could characterize your attention, how would you do it?

Mine is a swarm of bees.

Fragile, not all that interesting to look at from a distance, fairly difficult to move quickly from one place to another, and necessary for getting into all sorts of little places that benefit from being connected.

In one context, like a field of flowers, a swarm of bees is an essential part of nature working at its best. A swarm of bees is less heartwarming in other places, like a train car.

I think and work best when I can let my attention wander into some direction and stay there. If you need quick, decisive action without time to look around, you’re better off flipping a coin.

“The missiles are inbound and we need a decision, Mr. President,” they would say to me. “Hang on I’m still wondering how I never heard about white sweet potatoes,” I would say without looking up from my iPad.

I’ve met other people whose attention is an eagle, soaring over vast distances, spotting clear-eyed opportunities, and diving into them. Obviously this is way cooler, but I’m not convinced it’s any better or worse—it’s just different.

The world has a place for bees and eagles, and whatever your attention creature happens to be.

The only mistakes are taking someone’s attention for granted, and assuming theirs works like yours.

I’m so constantly intrigued and confused by what people pay attention to it’s the closest I’ve been to starting a podcast.

Deciding what I give attention to will continue to be a challenge as long as I have attention to give.

I’m sensitive to what feels like an overwhelming amount of information in a normal day. I can‘t turn it off, only retreat to quieter places where the noise outside isn’t such a barrier to dealing with the noise in my head.

I get the sense that we collectively share this problem but deal with it very differently. (Because we’re different attention animals.)

Does your dentist confirm your appointment and send you follow-up emails and text messages and send you links to make sure you have a pulse and you’re still coming?

This has been my experience, that these appointment systems have to pierce through the noise by clapping and yelling.

When I confirm, I will put it on my calendar and be there. Every new text and confirmation step stirs fresh attention outrage. Can we double my no-show fee in exchange for skipping the notifications? Assume I’ll manage to be there like I said?

Office staffers in several places have told me the same thing: that a lot of people book, miss, and get mad about the no-show charge despite the policy notice in a big font and a required spiel over the phone.

I don’t know who these other people are, but I assume they must have kids.

I don’t think people mean to be rude or disrespectful with other peoples’ time—I expect they’re overwhelmed like me. Except not like me, but way worse because they don’t just have a mostly-quiet little dog but a more complex cast of adorable, needy, infuriating human children that demand attention in ways I can’t fathom.

We have systems to help with these things, like phones and calendars and email, but there’s so much noise we need more systems to make louder noise and break through.

I don’t think people missing appointments is the problem, nor is it systems that manage to get their attention trying to help.

The problem is how much crap we quietly tolerate. It’s a developed attention numbness does nothing to stop the spiral. We seem collectively poised to welcome systems into our lives that can offer mediocre stand-ins for human effort. A third tier that can watch your calendar and surf the notifications from your dentist and probably reassure the automated desk staff that you will indeed show up to have your teeth cleaned and get a new set of x-rays taken.

For all my side eye about electronic notifications, my favorite part is that they’re easy to turn off.

I am getting better at this, at getting rid of devices that enslave my attention rather than liberate it. Not just waiting for a power outage to experience stillness, but making choices to support that.

Many of you figured this out a long time ago and you’re much further along with it. Remember I’m just a swarm of bees.

I think my best future will involve finding more quiet and smaller systems, and deliberately letting my attention rest in places where it’ll be useful. It’s tempting to consider the synthetic attention of algorithms, but I already learned once that outsourcing surrenders a fundamental part of my humanity to someone most likely looking to extract revenue.

So I’ll build escape hatches and always have walks and quiet places and dumb devices that let me direct my own attention.

I’ll attempt to continually re-wild my attention animal and hope you do, too.