The Generosity of Attention

Reflections during the Festival of Giving

(This was published on Sunday but a glitch prevented an email from being sent — sorry!)

I have never been good at gifts. Birthday parties always gave me anxiety, because when you’re growing up, material gifts are the manifestation of love. Once a year, there’s pressure to establish how well you knew someone, and how much you cared about them. We didn’t talk about feelings on the playground because we barely knew we had any. We gave all of our energy to childhood friendships — in all the chasing and the tagging — but there wasn’t much else to give. I think I still struggle with the idea of material representation, worrying that my silly little knick-knacks won’t show the lengths of my love, even to my best friends. My parents used to ask me to make cards for family members on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, and I hated it because I knew it was my fault for forgetting. As if that was the only thing that mattered. It’s not, but nobody told me that. I had to grow up and learn it myself. What I learned, as of fairly recently, is dictated well by Simone Weil: “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.”

I grew up with social anxiety, spending the majority of social events either standing in the corner or overthinking every word I said. Despite that, I had a blast at my best friend’s 12th birthday party. We spent so much time together all year that I didn’t feel like I had to prove myself to him at all. I find that quality echoed in my adult relationships too — though I don’t see my friends as often as I did when I was twelve, I try to give myself, wholly, every time I see them. Maybe the sparseness of our meetings is what drives it, but I want to empty myself like a sponge and soak our conversation until it runs out and we see each other again.

by Charlotte Ager

Mary Oliver — who wrote that “Attention is the beginning of devotion” — wrote in a loving elegy to her partner:

It has frequently been remarked, about my own writings, that I emphasize the notion of attention. This began simply enough: to see that the way the flicker flies is greatly different from the way the swallow plays in the golden air of summer. It was my pleasure to notice such things, it was a good first step. But later, watching M. when she was taking photographs, and watching her in the darkroom, and no less watching the intensity and openness with which she dealt with friends, and strangers too, taught me what real attention is about. Attention without feeling, I began to learn, is only a report. An openness — an empathy — was necessary if the attention was to matter.

I made two very good new friends recently, about a month or so ago. The first time we hung out together, they came over and we watched a film. After. we had tea and played the We are Not Really Strangers card game. The game is made up of carefully curated questions split into three levels: Perception, Connection, and Reflection. The foundation of the game lies in paying attention to the person sitting across from you. We asked each other questions like what was your happiest moment? or what would you like to learn about me? and left feeling like we’ve known each other for years. We still talk every day, and last time they came over we talked for three hours straight. It was as if a dam broke that first time, and the water never stopped.

Of course, there are different ways of paying attention. Growing up, my dad used to give my sisters and me long lectures in the car. As we got older, our minds stopped wandering and we’d tune in fully, asking questions and starting a discussion. My dad is the wisest person I know. To let him know that I’m listening, that I take his advice to heart, is the best way I can show my appreciation. My sisters are better at gift-giving, and my mom and I watch Gilmore Girls or talk on the phone for hours. I am still trying to get better at patience, at understanding, at silencing the voice in my head that itches to speak when someone else is speaking, and knowing when to give, without hesitation. I try to ask myself: what is this person offering me? What can I offer in return? My most meaningful friendships have developed when those questions are eventually answered with something along the lines of “vulnerability”.

Friday marked the beginning of Ayyam-i-Ha, the four-day Baha’i festival celebrating generosity, love, compassion, and friendship. I grew up exchanging gifts and baking cookies with my family but was always taught that it wasn’t the main focus — we spent most of the time doing service projects, paying attention to our communities, and listening with a generous ear. It was an outward exchange. It made me love deeper, harder. I am slowly recognizing all the different ways I can offer my heart. I am thankful to everyone who accepts it.

Alain de Botton writes:

And therefore, if for no other reason, we have a duty to remain constant providers of generous interpretations of the lives of others. We must be kind in the sense not only of being touched by the remote material suffering of strangers, but also of being ready to do more than condemn and hate the sinful around us, hopeful that we too may be accorded a tolerable degree of sympathy in our forthcoming hour of failure and shame.

Further Reading

Excerpt from “The Essence of Peopling by Sarah Perry

“Moments” by Mary Oliver

Seneca on Gratitude — from The Marginalian

Excerpt from Love Speaks to Its Name by J.D McClatchy

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What I Enjoyed This Week

Recent Reads

• “We Lived Happily During The War” by Ilya Kaminsky. This poem has been making rounds on social media in light of the heartbreaking situation in Ukraine. The poet, a deaf Ukrainian refugee, writes about guilt and moral responsibility from the perspective of those in first-world countries. This close reading from On Being looks at it nicely: [Kaminsky] is asking people who are reading the poem or listening to the poem or engaging with it to feel implicated in the question about civic life, and who is comfortable while other people aren’t, and how can you remain comfortable while other people are oppressed.

Other Wonderful Things

• Arthur ended this week after 25 years. I have fond memories of growing up with this show. It reflected the world around me in a way that didn’t seem scary. There’s something about the collective mourning of multi-generational childhood like this that makes my heart break a little. Regardless, I’m thankful to Marc Brown for the mark he made. I enjoyed this interview with him from The New York Times.

• My Astro Poets horoscope for this week: “Week of 2/20 in Aries: Much change has already happened. Maybe even more will happen now. It will all be good. Still, you feel too many feelings about all of it.”

• This song, this song, this song.