Dogs honking horns and how to figure out what to give our attention to
Last week my husband and I were walking down Main Street in our little town. We heard a horn honking in the distance. There are a lot of car alarms1 in our town so it could have been one of those, or maybe just some very impatient person.
“No telling,” I said to my husband.
We turned the corner and there was the truck that was clearly the source of the honking. No car alarm. No impatient person.
Inside the truck was a small dog. A little bulldog-looking creature. This dog was wailing on the car horn. Like, rocking against that horn almost like he was trying to hump the steering wheel. Maybe he was? Maybe it was accidental? Maybe the dog had learned how to honk the horn? I don’t know, there are so many questions here. But let me just tell you, that dog was going at it. That dog had something to say to the world.
Of course, my husband and I could barely make it down the rest of the block for laughing. He tried to get out his phone to film, but the dog stopped when it saw us. Perhaps its purpose was to summon any human being at all. It’s unclear.
It’s a funny story with bonus points for involving a dog (everyone loves dogs), but is it news? It was certainly a story I felt was worth sharing and people on Notes seemed to like it. Days later, my husband and I still bring it up and start laughing. In some ways, I feel a little as if my whole life was one long, beautiful path bringing me to that moment and that dog. It made our day. Probably our week. It’s early to tell, but possibly it made our whole month.
It's probably not news because it did not strike fear into our hearts. It did not make my pulse race or my palms sweat. I did not feel that heavy weight in the pit of my stomach like I might throw up. It just made me laugh. It made me glad we were lucky enough to walk by the truck and that dog at that particular moment.
Maybe the dog and the horn could be twisted into a news story if it were an epidemic of horn-honking dogs. In the subsequent days, I’ve learned this isn’t an isolated phenomenon. Perhaps there are horn-honking dogs all over the world, causing untold amounts of noise pollution and unnecessary alarm. In this world, perhaps all joy can be twisted, but I hope not.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what the news is and what it isn’t lately. This is probably because I’ve stopped looking at the news. I’ve done this to varying degrees in the past, but in the last two weeks or so, our house has become a news-free space. At least, it’s become a national news-free place. I’m not going to lie—it’s pretty nice.
Many years ago, I wrote a blog that included a weekly post about the small town where I live, Madison, Indiana. The feature was called Madison Monday. This was back in 2010 when the internet was a somewhat less noxious space and fewer people had discovered our town. When you googled Madison, Indiana, among the top results would be my blog and a site called Old Madison.
Old Madison was a sort of discussion board started by people in town. They were not the most positive people. The site contained a lot of gossip and a lot of nastiness. People could post anonymously, which is often a way to guarantee the worst possible behavior and that was pretty much what you got on Old Madison.
It was sad that the site was among the top results that showed up, like the virtual front porch for our town. People complained about it. People still complain about it. The site’s still around, though it’s no longer among the first results that come up when you search for Madison.
Obviously, the reason the site came up as the top results at that point was because so many people looked at it. This was before fucked-up algorithms that make your search results their own little bubble. Back then it was pretty straightforward. It was clear a lot of people were looking at Old Madison.
I know a lot of people were looking at Old Madison because it was often the topic of conversation around town. “Did you hear what so-and-so said about so-and-so on Old Madison?” they’d ask. I had not, because I didn’t look at Old Madison. I didn’t want to give it my time. I didn’t want to give it any more views. I didn’t want to give it my attention.
“What’s happening on Old Madison isn’t real,” I would say sometimes. In retrospect, this wasn’t 100% accurate. What was happening on Old Madison was only real if we made it real. It was real because people read it and gave it power and brought it into their lives. But no one forced anyone to look at Old Madison. That was a decision you had to make, each time you typed it into your browser. And every time we did that, we gave that site and those people a lot of power. We gave them the power that comes from our attention.
Will this Republican administration end up doing horrible and harmful things when they take office in January? Yes, I think that is a certainty. Am I in moments deeply terrified thinking about what might come? Yes, yes, yes. Will we need to do whatever is in our power at a local level to protect the people who are most targeted? Also yes. Does giving their endless shenanigans our attention in the meantime accomplish anything? Sadly, yes, but probably not what you might think.
Paying attention to them right now does keep our nervous systems constantly activated. It makes it hard to sleep and eat and fully experience our lives. It sucks all the energy out of our bodies. It takes such a daily toll. I know because I remember. I remember the nonstop media circus from the last time around. It won’t end. The whole point is to keep us endlessly enraged and appalled.
But as Oliver Burkeman said, “I don’t need these people’s psychodramas in my head anymore.” I’m not going to let them in there. I’m not going to give them the power that comes from my attention.
Because, let’s be honest, at least for Trump, attention is almost the whole point. He wants us to watch his every move. Like a five year old child, he doesn’t care if we’re watching with adoration or disgust. He just wants us to watch and I will not be giving him or the rest of his administration that satisfaction.
More than that, as many wise people before me have pointed out, we become what we pay attention to. Attention is the stuff of our lives. In many ways, it’s all our lives are—the sum of what we have and haven’t paid attention to. I already gave way too much attention to Trump during his first administration. I’m not doing it again.
I struggle with whether making this resolution—to be careful with my attention—isn’t a product of my own privilege. I’m not an undocumented person. I am to all appearances a cisgender, straight, white woman. I’m (mostly) able-bodied. I teach sociology and so I can’t say that my job security looks amazing over the next four years, but at least I’m at a private institution, which might provide some safety.
Maybe all of that makes it easier to be intentional about where I’m putting my attention. Maybe this would be harder if I were gay or transgender. Maybe I’m wrapping my privilege around me like a safety blanket. It’s a possibility I have to entertain, even if I’m not sure if it’s true.
On the other hand, as someone with so much privilege, it seems that part of my role is to be prepared to marshal that privilege. I don’t know how I do that when my brain is fried by watching the non-stop shit-show that is and will be this administration. I need will and focus. It’ll take every bit of my attention, so I’m saving it up. I’m spending it wisely.
So what will I be paying attention to instead? I’ll be paying attention to the people in my life and what I can do for them. I will be looking for ways to help people and mostly that will be the people in my physical surroundings, though if I can reach out and give someone a hand over the internet, that works, too. I’ll be paying attention to people discussing what effective organizing might look like in these dark times.
I’ll be paying attention to my students, who are young and scared. What tools can I give them to navigate this world? How can I be here for them? How can I help them get through this and how can I assure them that there’s still hope for the world?
I’ll be paying attention to my community. I’ll be asking myself who is vulnerable? Who needs help? How can we begin to strengthen our networks and resources now so that we’re prepared for whatever is ahead of us? What local alliances can we build? What is a mutual aid society and do we need one? If we learned anything last time around it was that resistance will probably be local. It’s time to start laying the groundwork for that.
I’ll be paying attention to voices of wisdom and hope. Often, those are the quiet voices, so I’ll be listening closely. I’ll be paying attention to my own language. How am I, even when it’s so hard, refusing to be drawn toward dehumanization and hate? How am I shutting up to listen as much as I’m shouting into the void?
And, yes, I’ll also be paying attention to the sky. The birds. My cats in the sunlight. The laughter of my friends. The feeling of sitting at the bar in my favorite local hangout. The way the sunlight sparkles off the river.
None of that is news, but that’s okay. Maybe it’s time for us to start making our own news. Maybe it’s time for us to start deciding what that looks like on a day-by-day basis. What will we let in and what will we shut out?
Yes, I’ll also be paying attention to dogs who honk car horns.
Welcome new subscribers, drawn by the dogs honking car horns content that clearly many of us are looking for right now. So glad you’re here. I can’t promise there will be dogs honking car horns every week, but I’ll do my best.
Also, why do car alarms even still exist? Isn’t it clear by the fact that we all listen to car alarms and take absolutely no action that they are not successful in preventing anyone from stealing your car?
The hoen had it coming.
Such an important message here. Understanding the power of our attention and that it is a practice like any other is vital to sustaining our sense of agency, wellbeing and life satisfaction. It’s the greatest gift we can offer ourselves and others.