Paying Attention to Yourself

In his book Son Rise, Barry Kaufman, the founder of the Autism Treatment Center of America, describes how he and his wife discovered the bathroom was the most helpful space in their house when they were helping their young, autistic son emerge from the cocoon into which he had withdrawn. Children on the spectrum are often hyper-sensitive to external stimulation – for many, it’s that overwhelming external stimulation from which they are withdrawing – and the bathroom, the Kaufmans found, was the least stimulating place available to hang out.

I used to quit my email every morning before I wrote. In fact, I wouldn’t even allow myself to check what had come in the night before. Between waking up and starting to write, I had been deliberately trying to avoid any interesting experiences. I didn’t want to start a conversation with my wife, or even pick up my cat. I kept my head down and my eyes straight ahead until I was in front of my computer and my story was opened. The world, I felt, had a magnetic power to suck my attention away from what I actually wanted to focus on. It was in my best interest to give that world as few opportunities as possible to distract me.

I don’t quit my email any more when I write. If my wife wants to talk about something, I’ll talk about it; if my cat wants attention, I’ll give it to her. I read all my emails first thing when I sit down. If my son knocks on my door in the middle of writing, I ask him what’s up. The other day I noticed I’d left my door open while I was working. The world is no less interesting to me now, I just seem to have learned how to move from it to my story and back as easily as shifting topics in a conversation.

Writing a story does require entering a kind of cocoon. I’m describing something only I can see, and while I want my stories to be alive with sights and sounds and smells for my readers, my living five senses are only a distraction while I write those stories. Yet I cannot actually turn those senses off; they are as active and present at my desk as when I am on a walk through the woods. It’s my attention that determines what I see and hear, whether it’s the cars passing outside my window or my father’s voice in my childhood home. Both are as real and unreal in their own way. I, meanwhile, am that attention, and how safe and comfortable and interested and focused I feel anywhere in the world depends only on whether I remember where everything begins.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Fearless Writing: How to Create Boldly and Write With Confidence.
You can find William at: williamkenower.com