I spent today on the St. Croix River, paddling a rented kayak. It’s easier, when you’re alone, to rent one and take the shuttle that comes with your rental back to your car, instead of trying to arrange rides and haul your own gear. Sometimes—often not, but sometimes—ease is the answer. And in this case, it also supported a local family run business, so it was a win win. Anyway, I mostly went slowly, except for when I needed to get past a big rowdy group of very loud college kids—at that point I may have looked like I was in some kind of race. College kids are great—I remember being one—but today was not the day I wanted to interact with loud 20somethings and their coolers of beer. I got past them and their whooping, and then past the two other guys who were smoking like chimneys, leaving clouds of wispy smoke in their wake. Then I came to a place where I could see only water in front and behind me as I drifted in my little teal-colored vessel. I knew it wouldn’t last, but it was something to praise while I had it.
Environmental writer Barry Lopez’s last book, published posthumously after his death on Christmas day in 2020, arrived on my doorstep last night. I’d forgotten I’d ordered it so it was a welcome surprise bit of mail. I’ve only read the introduction so far, but I can tell it’s a book to savor, just like the rest of his work has been. Embrace Fearlessly the Burning World is a collection of essays by Lopez, and toward the end of Rebecca Solnit’s introduction, she shares a quote of his from later in the book:
"Perhaps the first rule of everything we endeavor to do is to pay attention. Perhaps the second is to be patient. And perhaps a third is to be attentive to what the body knows."
So many writers whom I’ve learned from have spoken of the necessity of paying attention. Mary Oliver wrote, “Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it,” and “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” As Lopez suggests, attention has to come first, before we can make sense of anything—we have to notice it first. Patience must accompany attention if we’re going to have the staying power to notice what is there to see under all the layers of each experience. Our bodies are gateways to a deeper knowledge—and to get there it takes communion with our full personhood— to what lies deep in our bones and stretches back generations. Which, of course, isn’t an easy road, especially when that road includes hardship, abuse, and pain, like Lopez’s did. Like most humans’ do.
Solnit reminds us that at the heart of Barry Lopez’s work was the commitment to bear witness to moments as they happened—encounters with land, water, air, creatures, and humans, and the ability to be present to a place in time. I was thinking about this as I paddled the St. Croix today, about how each fleeting paddle slice brought me to another moment of witness, another bit of time when I got to be present to a specific place. I wanted to embrace each moment as it happened, to make sure I didn’t forget the beauty that remains. To exist so fully in each moment that I forgot to worry about what might be coming next. To praise things that cannot last, even if I want them to last until the end of time (whatever that means).
The world may be burning, literally and figuratively, but what if we embraced it anyway?
Attention is where it’s at. It’s always the starting point and the return-to point. It’s why I landed on this central idea (the intentional awareness of softly-applied attention) as the title of my first book of poems and, subsequently, the name of my work with people. And when we think about the phrase ‘to pay attention’ it really crystallizes that our awareness/attention is such a precious commodity and when we “pay” attention we are literally investing in something - a person, a place, a craft, a path, a practice. Over time, it can become quite stark, too, when we realize that some people and places (an old job or career) aren’t necessarily good investments. I enjoyed “paddling the river” with you. 🙏🏽🛶