The Joy of Selective Attention — The Autodidacts

Reality is detailed, and attention is finite. As I get older, I find myself noticing less. I think this is partly because adults are socialized not to stare, and to pretend like they know what’s going on.

Children are not embarrassed by gawking. And they learn much faster than adults. I think there may be a connection here. Wonder and curiosity require open-mouthed attention, and are incompatible with looking slick.

So I have tried to cultivate conscious noticing. When I enter a room, I look at all the corners of the ceiling. I try to determine if anything is different than last time, if it’s somewhere I’ve been before.

But my old brain is like a brittle, saturated sponge. The details of the surroundings aren’t vacuumed up the way they used to be.

My brain seems to chunk experience into various categories, and then label them “boring”. Even when I look around, it’s hard to see things.

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