Attention
Ian Leonhardt
I can relive every moment of the Norma-K III blue-fishing trip, when, in the middle of the night, my father and I ventured twenty miles out past Manasquan Inlet. Where our fate was controlled by the mood of the moon, wind, and seas. The amount of excitement I had bottled up that week was physically painful. Ten years later, I can pinpoint each sensation down to the neuron I perceived it in. Sea spray mixed with the already salty air sprinkled down to envelop my nose. Auditory neurons lay hypnotized by the swoosh of the waves. My retina sat dazzled by the dance of the bow and the wind-rippled waters.
My father and I shared a little warehouse of supplies we called the tacklebox, filled to the brim with weights, lures, and tools to resolve my numerous fishing catastrophes. Fisherman from all over my side of the boat would jump to the sight of their pulsating reels only to find it was my line they had caught. I lost hooks, bait, and a lot of line, but I never lost my smile, and each fisherman on my side of the boat seemed to catch that as well. I remember the captain’s cabin where I rested past midnight, and the reverence I gained for mother nature when the lights were inadvertently shut off. Had I possessed a smartphone at the time, maybe some of these memories would be captured in silicon rather than roam free through my mind as they do today. Maybe the soma smartphones seem to secrete would have penetrated my senses more than the salty air, the dancing bow, the soothing waves. Maybe I would have been possessed by my phone more than I possessed it.
There’s so much more I can relive, not merely remember, from my childhood. I can relive the night sky lit by fireflies that never seemed to abate. I can relive backyard fires staring back at me with the most beautiful red and amber colors. Every minute or so, when the fire would crackle-pop, spitting a few digested embers, my cousins and I would pretend it was a lava pit. I can relive the many first days of my 170-person K-8 elementary school, treating everyone as new until their character in my mind had been updated with their most recent summer adventures. I can relive standing alone at home plate, doing my best to anticipate the next pitch despite the little-league pitcher not knowing himself what was to come. There were also pool palaces with slides, seashells of long-lost treasure, and snow cones that could warm your heart.
As I grew older, assignments grew more robust, and I seemed to distance myself from the here and now. Throughout high school, college, and into the year of COVID, my life became less about the present, and more about an escape to when times were good, or when I presumed they’d be. A mindless push through work, and unknowingly, a mindless push through life. The here and now, with all its distinctive sensations, was either too boring or too painful to focus on. Focusing on the future, and how much I had to do to just be done so I could relax was my focus. I didn’t feel lost, but I wasn’t present. Work had to be done, and sacrifices had to be made. I thought this was the process of adulthood–to lose yourself through grinding work, and to enjoy only the vanishingly small fractions of time and rest in between.
Toward the end of the COVID school year, when the flowers of spring bloomed for the first time since the shutdown, my sensations and attachment to the present moment seemed also to bloom for the first time since those summer days among the Norma-K III, fireflies, and little league. Human nature is tainted with all sorts of diseases, from behavioral to genetic to foreign. Just as an increase in complexity of an organism brings unforeseen and unwanted consequences that must be regulated, the rise of technology and free content is a blessing that brings hidden consequences that must be repressed. I found myself often drifting off, thinking of what I needed to have done by today, tomorrow, or next week, and what I should have done yesterday. All of this while drowning in the infinite scroll of my smartphone. I focused on my mistakes more than I did fixing them, largely due to the youtubers and bloggers who told me that I’m not enough, and that I should be doing more ALL THE TIME.
This understanding of my inattention on the present moment, not theories on the chronicity of childhood versus adulthood, is what has brought me back to living every day as a real moment. At night, I used to scroll through my phone as a great escape, punishing my tomorrow’s self-rest at all costs to get away. There was something I was missing from my day, and somehow, I thought, scrolling through social media would fill the void. Jack Johnson understands this when he asks his listeners, “Did your sheep start jumping, grow out their teeth, did they need a little something more, than this?” Good sleep and journaling now fill my nights, and without me planning it, have helped fill the void of my days–bringing sensations, I haven’t paid real attention to in years, back to life. Living in a hyperproductivity-focused world, where you’re told you can change the outcome of a week in a day’s time, is no longer the path I follow. I now evaluate my days only once in the morning and once at night, living in the present the rest of my gifted time. I don’t regret it. My memories have once again become films, and my sleep has not been this good since the captain’s cabin of the Norma-K III.
Ian Leonhardt is a Molecular Biology and Biochemistry major, Sociology and Chemistry minor who graduated in the Spring of 2022. He intends on pursuing a career as a physician. Raised along the Jersey Shore, Ian has enjoyed being close to home while attending a university as large as Rutgers. His main academic pursuits include computational chemistry research at the Institute for Quantitative Biomedicine (IQB), mentoring incoming international freshman through the Global Roomates Program, and teaching as a Supplemental Instructor as part of Rutgers ODASIS. He also served as the President of Rutgers Circle K, the service-based organization that includes both high school Key Clubs and adult Kiwanis Clubs. His main hobbies include photography and running.