An antidote that costs nothing . . . but a moment

I started the day with a simple task. Call the bank.

All I wanted to do—talk to a real, live, breathing, speaking human. I did not want to read the FAQ or talk to Alfred, the non-entity chatbot who could only respond to questions in the FAQ.

My problem was not the usual, run-of-the-mill, “How do I make an online payment?” I expected a letter from the bank marked, Important Information Enclosed. You pay attention to messages in bold and large letters from your financial institution.

I receive a daily email from the US Postal Service with scanned images of our daily mail. That letter never arrived and fell off my radar until we received a notice: a vehicle fire with our mail and the neighbors’ perished in a blaze of not-so-elegant glory. So, heads up. That mail will never arrive.

No problem. I will call the bank with my rather unusual problem and have them send another copy of whatever was so important. That experience did not go well, and I may never discover what words lie in ashes in front of the brown house down the street.

I fretted. I fussed, I fumed. Let’s just say, I worked myself up into a dither. That’s what my mother used to call excessive agitation.

The Antidote

Rob Walker, author of the Art of Noticing, writes about looking for the unusual, sublime, or plain ordinary lying in plain view all around us, and staying a joyful human. In a recent post, I followed him down a rabbit hole to find and cling to the perfect solution for overstimulation, depression, burnout, and despair caused by excessive use of screens.

Those ubiquitous objects come in many sizes to capture our attention at the expense of living and our mental health. Behind those screens lies a world designed to kidnap our attention and keep us scrolling.

Walker listened to a podcast where Menka Sanghvi referred to a daily ritual, “skies before screens.” It’s simple. Before looking at your screen, look up at the sky.

Sanghvi came across the phrase from Sophie Howarth, who was inspired by poet Mary Oliver. Oliver was an expert at paying attention and writing about it, beautifully.

Howarth, who teaches a class about Oliver, explains:

She was a devotedly early morning person who greeted every new day by standing under the sky, notebook in hand and heart open to whatever might present itself. So many poets know the morning has a special creative quality not to be squandered by diving straight into a screen.

I probably could have saved myself from undue anguish and frustration by taking a moment for “sky before screen.”

And one deep breath, to top it off.

Put a song in your heart

A few reminders from Mary Oliver

“Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

“The dream of my life
Is to lie down by a slow river
And stare at the light in the trees—
To learn something by being nothing
A little while but the rich
Lens of attention.

From “Entering the Kingdom”

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And always—