A few weeks ago I wrote an article called Job Security: loving your work whether you’ve got work or not. Basically it was a case for cultivating backup plans, fungible, functional equivalents to your main plan.  I applied for a job recently that I didn’t get, and it didn’t bother me because I have lots of other work to do. In that respect I have “job security.”

The title of that article plays with an ambiguity around the word “work.”  How can you love your work whether you’ve got your work or not?  By applying two different definitions of work.  The first one, the work to love, is your life’s work, your work in general.  The second, “whether you’ve got work or not” refers to a particular job.  These two interpretations represent two distinct levels of analysis. The forest or the trees:  The object of your attention in general (life’s work) and the object of your attention in particular (this job I might not get).  You can think of it as the difference between ends and means.  Your particular job is the means to a general end. Any particular means aren’t the only means that could satisfy your end. If those particular means don’t work out, try some other means.  Circumnavigate to your ends.  If this particular job isn’t available, it’s not the end of the world or your journey toward your destiny.

You can apply these two levels of analysis to any object of your attention:

Having any satisfying job or having this one particular satisfying job.
Having any satisfying partner or having this one particular satisfying partner.
Having any satisfactory cure or having this one particular satisfying cure.
Having this one child to care for, or having this particular child to care for.
Having any satisfactory home or having this one particular satisfying home.

Now let’s revisit my advice:  Have a backup plan.  If you can’t do a particular job, remember that there are lots of other things to do. There are lots of good fish in the sea.  If the particular doesn’t work out, why waste tears?  Remember that the particular was just one of many means to the same ends. 

I’m hoping that this advice feels half true and half creepy to you. Therein lies the dilemma.

There is clearly some truth in the line from the old folk tune, “you take Sally, I’ll take Sue; ain’t no difference ‘twix the two,” but that’s no way for me to love Sue.  For me to make it work with Sue, I’ve got to believe that she is The One, my soul mate, my sole means to the ends of love and companionship.

And the same is true for all the particulars.  For me to make this job work I have to care about it in particular.  For me to give this cure the best try possible, I’ve got to believe in it, not in cures in general.  For me to care for this child, I must bond deeply with him, not just any child.

But what if Sue leaves me? It’s not good for me to be stuck on Sue for decades after, missing other opportunities for happiness, stalking her, hounding her to come back, making myself miserable.  People will say, “That Jeremy—he just doesn’t know when to move on.”

When to move on—that’s the issue. When should you shift from the particular to the general, pulling your attention away from yesterday’s means so you can focus on finding alternative means to the same ends?  And conversely, how do you shift from a focus on the general ends (I want companionship) to the particular means (Sue is The One).

How do you handle the shifts between particular and general, between means and ends most effectively?  When do you know that enough is enough, that persistence isn’t furthering, that you’re flogging a dead horse, that you’re throwing good money after bad? And when do you invest wholeheartedly, persisting through thick and thin, betting on this particular horse, throwing in 200%?

You would think that the very competent attention manager would know shift between a focus on the particular and the general with great precision and speed.   In practice though such efficient switching seems odd and unnatural:

Patient: I’ve put all my hope into this treatment. I’m praying it worked. So how does it look, doctor? Is the chemo knocking back the cancer?
Doctor:  I’m afraid not. It turns out the chemo doesn’t seem to be having any effect.
Patient: No worries.  So what’s the next treatment?

Jeremy:  Sue, I love you so much.  It seems like you’re the only person who can ever satisfy me.
Sue:  Bad news Jeremy, I’ve decided we should break up.
Jeremy:  No worries, Sue. I’m fine.  If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go call Sally.  

Employee:  I’m so glad to hear from you. This downsizing has us all dying to know.  I get to keep my job, right?
Boss:  I’m afraid not.  It’s hard for me to tell you this, but we’re letting you go.
Employee:  No worries. I’ve got plenty of other things to do.

Plaintiff:  My son means the world to me.  I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get custody.
Judge:  The court has ruled that your ex-spouse will have full custody.
Plaintiff:  Not a problem at all.  There are lots of children in this world who need the attention of a caring adult. Tell my son goodbye for me, OK? I’m off to the orphanage.

See, this is why I can agree only half-heartedly with all those self-help guides that tell you not to get attached. They’re giving advice like mine in the job security article, but we’re only half-right.  You can’t do anything productive without becoming attached.  People, jobs and pursuits demand focused, particular attention.  You can’t tell Sue, your boss, or your son “look I’m fine being here but I’d just as soon be with any of a number of equivalent people.”  You can’t get good at a particular skill by being equally committed to it and dozens of others. 

We need to oscillate skillfully yet gracefully between tunnel and peripheral vision. Yes, it’s bad to not see the forest for the trees.  It’s also bad to not see your particular tree for the forest. Sometimes you can see both forest and tree at the same time. But sometimes you can’t and you have to choose which to focus upon.  It’s not always easy knowing when to move your attention up to the big picture or down to the small one.