The Power of Staying Centered

Why Not to Give Into Attention-Grabbing

In our hyper-connected world of notifications, breaking news, and social media pings, I often reflect on a profound lesson I learned years ago when I ran the San Diego chapter of a wonderful organization called The Inside Edge.

I had taken over from another woman who wanted more time for her business, and what happened during those first meetings taught me something I still carry with me today, especially in our current age of endless distractions.

Every meeting morning, as I stood before hundreds of attendees handling our opening business, the past director would walk in late—as she consistently did.

And each time, I would pause the proceedings, greet her warmly, and inadvertently cause the entire room to turn and look.

One day, a remarkably wise woman in our chapter pulled me aside and delivered a truth I needed to hear: "Stop giving your power away."

I was genuinely taken aback.

I had simply thought I was being polite!

But her words crystallized something important—whether intentional or not—the past director was pulling everyone's attention away from our shared purpose.

In those moments, not one of us remained centered in what truly mattered.

This lesson hasn't been easy to integrate, especially in today's world where attention is currency.

My first instinct is still to worry: Am I being unkind? What will people think of me if I don't immediately respond to someone seeking attention?

After all, in a culture that celebrates the viral moment and the controversial take, staying focused feels almost countercultural.

It's only when I remind myself that it's my ego worrying about others' opinions that I can step back and see the complete picture with clarity.

When we surrender our attention to whatever grabs it—whether it's a disruptive colleague, an inflammatory headline, or the latest social media controversy—we're giving away our purpose and mindfulness to something designed specifically to distract us.

This attention-hijacker has many names across traditions—gremlin, monkey mind, algorithm—but its intention remains unchanged.

It's the oldest trick in existence.

I remember watching my husband point and say, "Look!" to our young granddaughter, and when she turned, he'd playfully knock her toy ducks into her bathwater. Eventually, she learned not to be fooled by attempts to distract her.

We adults could learn from her wisdom.

Children naturally seek attention—as they should. But I noticed with my own children that they thrived most when they received attention not for acting out but for mindful participation and thoughtful self-expression.

They grew when recognized for being present and honoring what they and others were doing.

As adults in the digital age, our desire for attention hasn't disappeared.

But if we've learned to seek it through disruption, drama, or victimhood (whether in meetings or on social platforms), we serve neither ourselves nor our communities by enabling such patterns.

When we chase attention—consciously or unconsciously—we disconnect from purpose.

Playing victim or hero disconnects us from the only power truly worth attending to: Love in action.

This doesn't mean we shouldn't receive attention or give it freely.

• We all need to be seen.

• We all need to feel our contributions matter.

• We all need acknowledgment for authenticity and for helping others.

But there's a profound difference between this genuine recognition and the momentary hit of being distracted from our deeper purpose, the needs of the present moment, or our collective well-being.

That wise woman who cautioned me against giving my power away saw something I had missed: that redirecting our attention must be done with full awareness.

Each time I paused our meeting to acknowledge the latecomer, I surrendered the power of that moment, the collective good we were creating together, and the unity we had established in the room.

In today's terms, I allowed a "notification" to interrupt our shared focus.

We don't serve anyone—including ourselves—by enabling behavior disconnected from our true nature.

We serve best by seeing everyone for who they really are and expecting to witness the manifestation of that truth in everyday moments.

What happened when I finally stopped acknowledging the past director's lateness?

Two things occurred.

First, she stopped arriving late.

Then, she stopped coming altogether.

Perhaps she went on to create wonderful things elsewhere—I genuinely hope so.

However, right now, we cannot afford to be distracted by worrying about what others decide to do, or not do.

We have purposes to fulfill, and the power of those purposes keeps us centered in this moment in a world that constantly competes for our attention.

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