Attention, please 😶😶😶

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My nephew discovered a way to get high: turning around till he got dizzy.

Since I came back to Hanoi, I’ve been hanging out with my 3-year-old nephew more, who is adorable enough to make me join the cascades of people posting online videos of cute babies.

Tep, which means “Little Shrimp” in Vietnamese, has brought a lot of joy to the house merely by being who he is. Seeing Tep shine around people who enjoy attending to him made me wonder: how many grownups get to be watched and played with this way?

I know little about raising kid, but I do know from being one myself not so long ago and from watching Tep that what a child needs the most is neither material indulgence nor strict rules to foster characters. It’s a sustained loving attention, the kind that says “I love you and I want to be with you”.

Playing with Tep makes me empathize with young parents so much: the reason this need is not met in many children is simply that it’s not easy to sustain such attention in the first place.

If “attention is the beginning of devotion” as Mary Oliver once wrote, then it is no surprise why many parents have said that raising a child is the noblest and most advanced form of spiritual practice.

To sustain attention on my little nephew, I too must get into that state of wonder and curiosity like him. In this domain, this guy is my little mentor. He teaches me to put aside pre-conceived notions about how messy and useless a child is. Without doing so, I’ll get bored so quickly.

As an example, recently Tep discovered a way to get himself into an ecstatic state of being: turning around until dizziness hits. Then he will fall into the ground laughing, barely able to say anything coherent.

I was there witnessing this discovery with sheer amusement and adoration. Every moment he would explore something different; his insatiable curiosity makes him so fascinating that it takes me little effort to watch.

The many shades of attention

As I watch and play with my nephew, I realize that how I want to attend to my nephew isn’t too different from how I want to attend to everyone else, from a reverent master to someone accused of a crime, from an old enemy to a new romantic interest, from a stone to a flower to the dancing grasshopper.

There are ways of attending to someone that feel like intruding their lives and thwarting their well-being. Stalked, monitored, singled out or unjustly judged, you may have been watched in many of those ways. It might have torn you into pieces. If that was true, I’m sorry.

There are also ways of non-attending that can break your heart. Neglected, glazed over, or worse, there-but-not-really-there, anyone who has been overlooked this way by people important to them know how deep it hurts. Some even spend their whole life chasing fame in order to make up for such attention that they never got, trying to fill an open, aching wound with empty flatteries. The scarier form of this non-attention is one with unrealistic expectation. “I’m not really noticing you until you become this kind of perfect human with this beautiful look, amassing wealth or amazing achievement”, said a parent, a teacher or a spouse. If that was true, I’m sorry.

There is hope though. There are ways of attending that will help the other flourish. This is the way of seeing something at a close distance, interested yet unassuming, softly caring yet firmly loving, believing in the highest potential yet accepting for what is.

Indeed, most of my growth as a person has come from the latter, a sustained loving attention I’ve received from many wonderful people in my life, from mother to caretakers to teachers, mentors and friends. One of the most important skill I am learning in my work as a guide and life coach is the ability to attend to the other person in a way that surfaces the deeper needs, brings vitality to their being and nurtures that which wants to be born.

You too can learn it, which starts with the clearing out of your inner home, to make space for the other. Whenever I remember to enter that inner spaciousness, the agenda of my tiny calculative self falls away, the space between us thickens, weaving and warping the linear clock time into a rich space-time tapestry. A state of flow. Chronos turned into Kairos. My eyes soften, a gentle releasing of focus that expands the present into a wide open field.

What happens then is almost magic: you get mesmerized in seeing another human, a living organism being born again and again in the moment. Soon you start to see not only with your eyes but also with your whole body, your heart, yourself. You realize that you are no longer only the detached observer; you, your presence and attention become part of the unfolding scene.

Many people have found ways into this blissful state of union, what Martin Buber calls I-Thou, in nature, conversation, dance, poetry, art, music, sensuality, sexuality. Maybe all at once even.

Once the space within and in between has been opened up into the vast possibilities, I’m freed up to play around. Which is why when I’m in physical contact with other bodies now it’s not just dancing, leaning on, massaging, caressing but also knuckling, palming, elbowing, nosing, mouthing, earing, heading, footing, toeing etc… The human body to me has become like the playground to my little nephew: a whole universe in itself, ever changing, never ceasing to amaze. When it comes to the body, it’s hard to go wrong if we follow the guidance of moment-by-moment pleasure and joy. As an example, I learn very quickly and experientially when someone squeezes my chronically tight shoulders that real pleasure comes when a deep need is satisfied. I’m not even touchy-feely; I’m touchy-squeezy. 😅

The hard thing is to learn to follow it when the head yells too loud or the heart aches too much. In those cases, I’ll think of my nephew as a role model: an embodiment of curiosity.

It takes a lot of unlearning to be like a child again, and it is much needed.

This section of the Enzyme is reserved for deeper musing, a part that most of general public wouldn't even care to read.

I SEE YOU

One way to attend is to see, not only with your physical eyes but also with your whole self. This kind of seeing can be found in the theme song of the movie Avatar.

“I see you” is a greeting by the indigenous Na’vi. It is not so much of a physical vision but rather a spiritual connection, an acknowledgement of each other fully as a being. “To see” is a cornerstone of Na’vi philosophy. It is to open the mind and heart to the present, and embrace Pandora, the indigenous land, as if encountering it for the very first time.

The Buddhist’s bow to one another also has a similar meaning: it is a lotus to acknowledge the Buddha nature in each of us. When we bow, we are in effect saying “I am a flower, and I am offering myself to the whole of you.” Beautiful, eh?

On the receiving end, when we are truly seen, we are surprised at how much there is within us, waiting to come out under such gentle attention. This is how I often feel after a heartfelt conversation, an all-out improvised dance with good friends or a work session where our creativity goes wild. The extent of the pleasure of being seen reveals how deep of a need it is in each of us.

It isn’t always rosy though.

This kind of non-judgmental seeing can bring out not only the best but also the worst out of us, whose existence we too are aware of yet dare not to reveal for fear of being judged. Strong leaders who yearn to be soft and shy in the arms of intimate ones. Kind people who secretly dream of sadistic pleasures. Upright citizens who fantasize rule-breaking acts.

What we think of as our worst is similar to a dusty basement in the depth of our psyche marked with “evil” and “pain” and “trauma”. This dark corner too has to be explored, for it may hold the key to our growth as a fuller person.

The question is: how do we learn to see in the way that allows vulnerability to reveal itself not as something to be avoided but rather as the fundamental human condition?

I don’t have an answer, although I do have an example. Recently, a sensitive friend told me in a matter-of-fact tone “I don’t feel too much of your presence here with me”. Although her sentence was skillfully expressed and rather non-judgmental, it still left me a bit vulnerable. I’m reminded of how people can see through your bullshit, especially who care about you enough to tell you the truth. More importantly, there is no real presence without vulnerability. Despite what all the self help books tell us about developing our charisma, for our presence to be real, it has to come from a place in us that feels paradoxically fragile and strong. That will be a lifelong practice.

Sharing is sprouting.