I’m not feeling particularly in control of things these days. How about you?
So, a reminder seems in order. To hold on to (and put into practice) when the ground under our feet gets shifty.
Here’s what I’ve learned (and keep relearning): There are really only two things in life we actually control:
- The quality of our attention, and
- What we focus that attention on
That’s it.
And surprisingly, that’s pretty much everything.
It may sound overly simple, but these two things are keys to both wielding our power and enjoying our lives.
On what will we focus?
Will we treasure it or trash it?
Will we see it for what it is, or only for what it is not?
A practice in the power of attention
For years in my retreats and programs, I tested this idea with an exercise.
I’d split the group into pairs. Half would step out of the room to prepare to share what they were most excited to get from the program.
The half that stayed got their instructions: Say nothing. Just listen. But listen with intention. Listen with presence.
The quality of their attention was to be generous, appreciative, and welcoming.
They were to see their partner’s face, body, words, ideas, and energy as wise and worth receiving. They were to radiate interest and enjoyment. Easy enough.
Then came the twist.
Halfway through, I’d clear my throat—their cue to change the quality of their attention.
Now they were to continue listening … but with a harsh, judgmental, critical quality. Again, without saying a word, they were to focus on flaws, imperfections, annoyances. They were to silently broadcast boredom or contempt.
At this point, everyone looked at me like I must be kidding. But, as loathsome as my request was, they trusted me and agreed to try it out.
And oh my heart, the results.
Nearly every speaker began radiant, animated, confident. Even those usually shy found their voice and spark.
Then—without knowing what had shifted—they would falter. Lose their train of thought. Some stopped speaking altogether.
When I revealed what had happened, the recognition—from speaker and listener alike—was visceral.
“I felt good about myself,” the speakers said about the first part of the exercise. “What I was saying felt meaningful.”
Then, when the quality of the listener’s attention shifted, they shared, “I got quieter.” “I wondered if I was boring my partner.” “I felt less important.”
The shift in quality of attention—from appreciation to judgment—changed everything.
What you appreciate, appreciates
To “appreciate” means to rise in value. To recognize worth. To see with reverence.
When we pay attention to someone (ourselves included) with appreciation, our value rises—not because it changed, but because it’s being seen as valuable.
I sometimes call this The Gaze of Grace. It’s the gaze that sees others—and ourselves—as the Divine might: with esteem and delight. With appreciation.
Whatever you focus on will expand.
Focus on someone’s brilliance and they’ll shine all the more.
Focus on their failings, and they’ll shrink and dim before your very eyes.
This is true in relationships with others as well as with ourselves.
What you get is what you see.
Let’s use my belly as an example.
Since I was 11 years old I wished my curved belly was flat like my friend Sonia’s in Ballet class.
No matter how mean, punishing, or restrictive I have been to my body or belly over the last four decades, it’s pretty much stayed the same: it has the impudence to curve outward instead of obediently lying flat.
So. What happens when I look at my belly with the Gaze of Grace, when I first notice what IS about my belly, and then notice what I can appreciate about it?
First, I notice what IS.
Well, there’s my belly. It curves. Actually, it curves twice: from top to bottom and also around my belly button. It’s also soft, softer at the bottom than up toward my ribs.
Then, I notice what I can appreciate.
Well actually, those curves are pretty cute. Pouty, maybe. Saucy, definitely. My fingertips like the softness (even though this culture tells me I shouldn’t). My belly catches the light like the moon, reflecting softness and strength.
My belly laughs and tells me it feels great about itself, sees absolutely no problem here—so maybe I should follow suit.
And then, like magic, I LIKE my belly—the same one I was critical of only a moment before.
Same belly, different quality of attention.
Gone is the familiar tiring diatribe in my head. Instead, I feel just fine about my belly and good about myself. I can get on with living my life and doing my day.
Like all of us, I don’t have much control how this culture sees our bodies, how it urges us to be harsh and critical about every aspect of ourselves, bellies included.
But I do have control over how I see myself.
And you.
And the shifting ground under my feet.
This is not about slapping a bandage over a real problem. Not about pasting over pain with positivity.
Instead, it’s about learning to direct our attention with intention.
When you catch yourself spiraling into criticism—of yourself, your partner, your day, your life—pause. Shift your focus. Deliberately look for something to appreciate.
It’s not denial. It’s direction.
And, later, if there’s still a real issue to be addressed, you’ll be able to do it with more insight and a softer heart.
A practice
Deceptively simple, here’s a practice that can help rewire your inner default from “harsh and critical” to “curious and caring.”
1. Pick something—or someone—to pay attention to with appreciation.
Just for a few moments. Yourself. A stranger. A body part, your friend, your feelings.
2. First, observe without judgment.
Not good, not bad. Not right, not wrong. Just what is.
For example, instead of “I hate my dimples,” try “I have dimples.” Full stop.
3. Then, observe with appreciation.
Notice the way your dimples catch light. The way they punctuate your smile. The poetry in their shape. Let the ordinary become luminous.
That’s it. That’s the practice.
This is how we retrain our attention. Often, when we stop trying to change something, it reveals a beauty we never noticed.
Why this matters (a lot)
Your attention determines how others show up around you.
Your attention determines how you show up.
What you see and how you see it, creates what you see next.
Focus on how much you suck, and you’ll feel all the more sucky.
Focus on what’s right about you, and that “rightness” expands.
Appreciation is the best antidote I know to self-doubt, perfectionism, people-pleasing, and despair.
And don’t worry. Self-appreciation is not self-aggrandizement. It’s not fake. It’s not a bypass. It doesn’t make you arrogant or oblivious.
In fact, appreciation heightens compassion, clarity, and connection—to others and to yourself.
You can high-five yourself and still give others a hand.
You can love yourself and not become a narcissist.
You can use your own voice and still deeply hear others.
You can feel good in your skin in a world that tries to convince you not to.
This is not indulgence. It’s reclamation.
At last
This is about rewriting your internal programming from one of judgment to one of grace.
This is about choosing what lens you want to see through—even when you feel raw, rattled, or rejected. Becoming someone who can feel good even in shitty conditions. Reclaiming the only things you truly control:
- The quality of your attention, and
- What you focus that attention on.
Because, dear one,
what you pay attention to, grows.
You have a dial. You get to choose.
So, I say, let’s choose to see the natural glory of ourselves and others, not the photoshopped version sold to us by a culture that profits (endlessly and bottomless) from our self-loathing.
You are brilliant.
You are wise, deep, and wonderful
— especially when you see it.
With you, as you reclaim your gaze, your grace, and your attention,
