Attention in Peru
At 9 years old my parents took me to visit my grandparents in Peru. My grandpa was a civil engineer and helped build water systems all over the world. We took advantage of their Lima residence to go see Machu Picchu.
Back in the 90's this was a long journey. We flew from Lima to Cuzco, high up in the mountains. I remember being forced to drink tea to help acclimatize to the altitude. My mom and I hated it—we both piled a ton of sugar into our cups so we could force it down. We then took a train (now very popular) from Cuzco to Aguas Calientes, the town below Machu Picchu, along the Urubamba River. For a 9 year old, this was a wild adventure, unlike anything I had ever experienced. The train was old compared to any American trains, and we lumbered alongside the river, precariously swaying above the gushing rapids below. The river was RAGING. I had never seen a river so large or powerful.
With no available distraction for several hours, I drank in the scenery. Steep mountain cliff on one side, the river on the other, and a dense forest beyond, my imagination went wild. I loved it. I daydreamed there were 'bad guys' in the trees across the river who started shooting arrows at the train. The bad guys somehow got to the front of the train and were climbing toward our compartment on the roof. In my mind's eye I returned fire with my own bow and arrow, both across the river and to the intruders on the roof of the train, ducking behind seats. Swordplay ensued, and it was a raucous duel between the train passengers and the bad guys.
I still remember this fantasy today, almost 30 years later. I was a 9 year old with no entertainment, so I created my own, and it felt completely normal. There were no cell phones back then, and definitely none that would work in the deep mountains and jungles of Peru. I had to entertain myself.
This wasn’t a one-time occurrence. When I was a kid I used to stare out the airplane window and watch the clouds for entire flights. I loved deciding what objects the cloud shapes were, and would feel this strong desire to walk out on the clouds; they looked so soft and warm and welcoming.
Similarly I have memories of watching the moon when I was very young. I would be in the back seat of the car on drives home. I would look up out the window and stare at the moon, seeing its face. I knew rationally that it wasn't following me, but I enjoyed the sensation as if it were. I would watch it the whole way home, wondering about it, how far away it was, how wonderful it was that we had a moon to look at and enjoy.
And I wonder now... are we missing something by not affording ourselves the opportunity to engage in such fantasies regularly? Do we gain anything when we have only our observations about our environment and the thoughts inside our heads? In today’s world we are constantly stimulated, our attention fractured between different screens. Are we losing presence, and thus our true life experience, because we’re constantly absorbed by the digital world?
I recently learned that “rawdogging flights" has been trending this year. What does 'rawdogging a flight' mean, you may ask? Basically, you sit on a long-haul flight without any distractions—no phone, headphones, no internet. Apparently people, mostly young men, are engaging in this practice as a sort of rite of passage and a way to disconnect from the digital world. It’s supposed to result in a lot of deep introspection. I hear this and wonder if our subconscious somehow recognizes our plight and is crying out for a release.
I used to think of my life in units of time, believing time was the ultimate currency. We only have so many years, so many moments on this earth. Money is only a means to an end to secure more time. Time appeared to rule all. But recently I’ve adjusted my thinking. We have a finite amount of time in life, but within that we also have a finite amount of energy and attention. Attention is a limited resource just like time, and we only have so much available to us in our finite lives. Our fate in life is determined by how we direct our attention, what we choose to focus on, in the limited amount of time afforded to us. Units of attention are the true currency.
If we adopt this paradigm shift, we may reconsider how we spend our time. We might choose to disconnect from our iPhones and stare out the window on a train, enjoying an outlandish fantasy, leaving our devices untouched. In tune with our attention, we might better enjoy our time on this beautiful earth.