Rediscovering the Lost Art of Noticing

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

-Mary Oliver

Last week as I was returning to my house from a walk, I noticed a small bird perched atop our mailbox. A small brown robin, it wasn’t particularly noteworthy. It wasn’t eating or hopping or flying. Just sitting there looking out at the world. Yet the image of the little robin on the mailbox stuck with me all week.

I was lucky enough to marry into a family of noticers. Early in our marriage, I was astonished at how they would point out roofs being replaced, classic Ford trucks tucked away in barns or brilliant orange tiger lilies in bloom while we were on a walk or a drive. They paid attention to the comings and goings, the buildings and the tearing downs, the movement of a neighborhood over time.

My family of origin, on the other hand, talked. Talking being our primary source of entertainment, we dissected, discussed and debated topics of every kind. People were our topic of choice. We were so curious about how people were wired, why they saw the world the way they did, what motivated them to relate to the world in their unique way. We were far too busy psychoanalyzing to notice a bird on a mailbox.

Thanks in no small part to my in laws’ influence, I’m learning to be more intentional about quieting myself so I can be present to where I am. This is no small task. A still moment hardly stands a chance against the constant lure of social media, the endless podcasts in my feed, the frantic pace of my own mind. It almost feels irresponsible to turn down the volume.

And yet, when I choose to go on a walk without Airpods, when I delete my Facebook app, when I take a deep breathe, all my senses are rewarded so richly I can scarcely believe it:

• I sit with the littles at the eastern facing window in our room, marveling at the rise of the sun as it paints streaks of deep pink and warm gold across our big desert sky.
• I see with fresh eyes the “banana moon” that 2 year old Marshall literally never fails to notice.
• I breathe deeply of the pungent, woodsy scent as we hike along Thomas Creek, in the foothills of Mount Rose. I marvel at the endless varying textures of the tree bark along the way.
• I hear 15 year old Wyatt picking out a troublesome chord on the guitar and finally nailing it.
• I notice the symbiotic mix in my usual lunch salad of crunchy red cabbage, creamy avocado, sharp cheddar and tart green apple, making me unusually happy.

As I am returned to the present, my breathing slows down, my shoulders relax, anxiety drains away. Challenges we are grappling with seem to lose a little of their power, a fresh sense of possibility rising. I regain a healthy sense of perspective, of knowing the world does not spin on my command but upon the Divine, love itself.

At the same time, I am eternally grateful for the gift of my parents, that noticing of our fellow humans. That seeing of our neighbor, the homeless man on the corner, the new girl at work yet to find her people there. That healthy curiosity that curbs quick assumptions and easy labels and instead fosters a deeper understanding, empathy, and appreciation for the unique way each one mirrors their Creator.

What do you notice without really trying? What catches your eye, your attention, and feeds your soul?

Here’s to noticing the big and the small, the grand and the unremarkable, the fresh and new and the ancient.

Photo Credit: Stephen Fick (check out his work on IG @westernbeard)!