Bring back the things that require your full attention

Why did we stop reading to each other?

There are lots of things we do instinctively for children that apparently become unnecessary the moment we grow up. We tuck them in. We sit on the end of the bed and talk. We make up stories. We read aloud. That last one has been on my mind.

Reading aloud to a child feels completely normal. We understand that it is about far more than transmitting the information on the page. You sit close. You lend them your voice. You both enter the same story at the same speed.

And then adulthood arrives and, somewhere along the way, we replace all of this with forwarding a link accompanied by the words: "You should read this." Efficient? Yes. Quite the same thing? Not remotely.

1. "Listen to this."

I've started doing something different. If I'm reading something that moves me, makes me smile or makes me think, I've started reading it to Jonny, my husband. I've been asking him to read to me too.

There is something surprisingly intimate about it. Maybe it reminds me of being little. Or being a young mum, reading to my sons. 

And when I read things out loud I experience the words differently too. I sometimes find myself stopping halfway through because the thing I thought I wanted to share has opened an entirely different conversation. The words become the beginning of an exploration of an entirely new thread.

2. Attention might be one of our scarcest resources

We've all read the statistics on attention deficit. But outside of the algorithms, my mind was already feeling scattered by midlife. But this summer I looked at my own behaviour fully. I noticed how often I would watch something while scrolling something else. How often I would listen while answering a message. 

I love the efficiency that technology offers us. But there is a difference between having access to everything and being fully present. Maybe now I am old enough to know the distinction. 

3. Full attention is a form of generosity

We talk quite a lot about self-care. I wonder whether we should talk more about attention-care. Protecting little pockets of our lives from becoming background noise. And offering other people - the people we love, the people we respect - of having all of us. No phone in the other hand. No half-eye on an incoming notification. No rush to optimise the moment. Just: listen to this.

Perhaps that is why reading aloud feels so unexpectedly lovely. It forces a kind of shared pace. Neither person can race ahead. Neither can skim. For a minute, you are both exactly where the sentence is.

4. A very small Joyspan experiment

This doesn't require a new habit, a subscription or another thing to fit into an already crowded week. Find one paragraph you love. A novel. A newspaper column. A recipe introduction. A poem. Something ridiculous somebody has written online. And instead of sending the link, find somebody you love and say: "Listen to this bit." That's it.

5. Which old ones were worth keeping?

Joyspan, I'm beginning to think, might be built from moments as small as these. Less about endlessly adding new experiences. More about noticing which old ones were worth keeping, and bringing them back.

What would you read aloud, and to whom? I'd love to hear. As always, email me at rebekah@mpowder.store.