ACKNOWLEDGE THE COSTOF YOUR DISTRACTION

Awareness

One of the most tragic things I know about human nature isthat all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of somemagical rose garden over the horizon—instead of enjoying theroses that are blooming outside our windows today.

Dale Carnegie

Maybe it was the recurring disappointment in my children'sfaces when I told them I didn't have time. Maybe it was the superficialhellos and hasty goodbyes offered to my spouse. Maybe itwas the persistent feeling of unease—like I was missing somethingimportant. Maybe it was a combination of all these troubling factorsthat finally made me ask, Is this really how I want to live?

The first and most critical step in this journey is gaining awareness.I had to acknowledge all the precious moments I was missingand would continue to miss as a result of my distracted ways.Taking this difficult look inward was a prerequisite to beginningmy transformation. If I hadn't first made an assessment ofthe irreparable damage caused by my tech-obsessed, multitaskingways, even my most sincere efforts to let go of distraction wouldhave never happened (or lasted).

The pages that follow include three stories from my journey,which I hope will enable you to gain valuable awareness aboutthe cost of your distraction. Then a "Hands Free Weekly Intention"offers a list of practical ways to help you curb your distractedtendencies and initiate meaningful interactions with the peopleyou love. These intentions correspond with the letting-go actionillustrated in the story. The intentions in this first chapter encourageyou to take an honest look inward to assess the cost of yourdistractions.

Despite the pain you may experience while reading this chapter,do not let it discourage you. On this journey to grasp whatreally matters, discomfort often comes before growth; hurt beforehealing; regret before promise. By going to the darkest places inour soul, we find light. This first and most difficult step in thejourney offers the chance of a new beginning—a chance to graspthe moments that matter from this day forward.

WHAT I WOULD HAVE MISSED

I still have the envelope. It's nestled among my most valuabledocuments, along with my marriage license, passport, social securitycard, and birth certificate—documents that prove I exist. It'snot the content of the oversized envelope, stamped with the logoof our local zoo, that's worth saving—it's the message scribbledon the outside.

The words were written on the very day I vowed to stopmissing the precious moments that make life worth living. Likerushing water from a swollen stream, the words filled my mindwith such force that I was unable to hold them back. I scrambledthrough a kitchen drawer, looking for something to write on—asif my life depended on documenting these words.

At first glance, the uneven trail of words looks like a grocerylist jotted while driving—imagine one hand holding the steeringwheel while the other scribbles eggs, milk, and broccoli. There's nocapitalization. The t's aren't crossed. The sentences have no punctuation.But all that only reveals my haste. I was certain I mustremember every single word of this epiphany, which changed thecourse of my life. Here is a polished version of what I wrote:

What if you missed hearing the best part of your child's daybecause you were on the phone?

What if you missed a chance to inhale the sweet scent ofyour energetic child because you insisted on folding that basketof laundry before bedtime?

What if you missed a chance to console your worried spousebecause of your mile-long to-do list?

What if you missed hearing an unknown childhood memoryfrom your aging parent because you were too busy to call?

What if you missed a divine cloud formation in the skybecause you were racing to the bank, the post office, and thedry cleaner before you had to pick up the kids?

What if one day you realized that all the opportunities youmissed couldn't be retrieved?

But it was already too late.

What if one day you realized the best moments in life comein the mundane, everyday moments? But you were only fullypresent on special occasions.

What if, instead of rushing through the minutiae of yourdaily life, you occasionally paused and offered your presence?

What if you turned away from the distractions that monopolizeyour time and attention and grasped the sacred momentspassing you by?

Turn off the music in the car.

Sit next to your child as she plays.

Lie in bed with her after you say good night.

Hug her and don't let go right away.

Tell her something you have been meaning to say.

Bend down and look her in the eye when she talks to you.

Do these things and see what might unfold. And once themoment is over, reflect back on that moment and realize thispainful truth: If I had not paused, that precious moment is whatI would have missed.

After covering the front and back of the envelope with mythoughts, I stared at it. Although not sure what I was supposedto do with what I'd written, I simply could not put the envelopeback in the drawer. This once-ordinary envelope now exudedsignificance, so I set it on the counter with a sense of expectation—as if waiting for it to come to life.

I didn't have to wait long. Less than an hour later, the purposeof what I'd written became clear.

As I was making lunch as usual for my younger daughter,Avery, my laptop was open on the kitchen counter and my phonewas an arm's length away. The devices battled for my attentionwith their respective dings and beeps. I answered their demandingsummons with instant obedience.

Between incoming texts and email messages, I hurriedlyapplied peanut butter to a slice of bread. The sooner I could makemy child's lunch, the sooner I could address a few pressing matterson my to-do list. My mind was preoccupied with an upcomingbaby shower I was hosting, the low air pressure on the front righttire, and making copies of a community-picnic flier.

For some reason, I looked up. I knew my child was there, butthis time I noticed her, really noticed her. My precious curly-haireddaughter sat on the sofa sucking her thumb while gentlyrubbing her nose. Suddenly, I felt like I couldn't breathe. For thefirst time, I felt a new kind of urgency—an unsettling, uncomfortable,downright painful kind of urgency. Time was running out.

Then I did...