The Moment I Realized I Wasn’t Paying Attention

Erin Coyle
5 days ago
4 min read

A Writing Practice to help you tune into self-sabotaging habits

This post is part of my series How to Start a Writing Practice: A 7-Week Experiment. Read the full series here.

Despite being a daily meditator for thirty years, I didn’t really learn how to pay attention until I took an improv class. Improv, it turns out, is basically a master class in presence.

There I was, on stage with a person I didn’t find particularly funny or engaging, and I took it upon my absolutely brilliant self to take control of the scene, to steer it in a “better,” “funnier” direction.

While I was busy thinking about how I was going to do that, I realized he’d stopped talking.

And was staring at me. So was the audience.

I had no clue what he’d said. I couldn’t respond. I just stood there, mouth agape, feeling my heart clawing its way up my esophagus. I wasn’t paying attention.

Not because I didn’t care, but because I was busy trying to be impressive, funny, witty… brilliant.

I abandoned my partner, and myself, in that moment. I left us both alone up there, inviting a full scene implosion. Which is okay.

I just grimaced, said “sorry ’bout that,” and then we laughed and high-fived. Improv was a safe space to learn and grow and screw up. It helped me become more present, and a better listener.

“Beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.”— Annie Dillard

Who hasn’t caught themselves in a conversation with a friend or colleague where your brain immediately goes into how am I going to respond mode before they’ve even finished their sentence?

You want to sound intelligent, so you start sorting through everything you know on the subject. If you disagree, your attention shifts to building a sound argument.

Before you know it, they’ve moved on to another topic — or are asking what fertilizer you use to make your office plants so healthy (the bones of your enemies, obviously) — and you’ve missed the moment entirely.

This happens in our relationships with partners, clients, patients, friends. And it has real consequences.

We’re rarely hearing our first thought.

By the time most of us notice a thought, we’re already on the third or fourth version. We’ve subconsciously edited, polished, tucked away the hard parts, and made it socially acceptable before we even know what it is!

Writing practice invites us to slow down enough to catch that first glimmer of a pure, unadulterated thought before it disappears. Because if you’re lost in the past or future, you’re not present. If you’re observing your thoughts in real time, you are.

In mindfulness meditation, you observe thoughts as they arise, then let them go and return to the breath. This kind of writing practice works a little differently. Instead of letting thoughts pass, you write them down. You get to find out what’s actually happening in your mind and body and attend to what shows up on the page.

If you’ve been following along on this seven-week journey, you’ve probably noticed your pen stalling while you think about what you should be writing. That’s okay. Just write that down: “Gee, I just found myself thinking about what to write again.”

Writing practice isn’t about becoming better.It’s about freedom.

The more present you are with what’s arising, the freer you are to play.

Take the fork out of the baby's hand

I once had a Buddhist teacher describe meditation this way: when you see a baby playing with its toys, you let it. But if the baby wanders off, finds a fork, and tries to stick it in an electrical socket, you run over, pick up the baby, take away the fork, and put it back with its toys.

The same is true for your mind.

Most of the time, you can let thoughts, images, and memories come and go. But when your mind latches onto something painful or frightening and won’t let go, that’s when you gently redirect it.

Writing is one way to do that.

Instead of sticking the fork in the socket over and over again by ruminating, worrying, or trying to banish the unpleasant thing, you put it on the page. Once it’s written down, you’ve taken the fork out of your mind-baby’s hand and made space for something else.

Now your mind has room to play. Ideas thrive in open, curious environments. Worry and self-criticism feed on overthinking. So feed your creativity instead.

Writing tip

Can’t settle down? Feeling restless? Get up and move.

Put in your earbuds and have a three-minute dance party. Do ten jumping jacks. When the mind won’t stop, move the body. It helps the brain shift states and signals the nervous system to change gears.