The Power of Noticing

Slow down and remember to notice. It's become too commonplace for me to hurry from one thing to another, whether mentally or physically. I have to be very conscious about noticing my surroundings. I imagine eventually that noticing will become habitual. Today still requires the effort. Today I put in that effort. 

I love visiting libraries. I can't quite put my finger on the feeling I get when I'm there. I think it's the feelings of solitude and calm that come being surrounded by so much amazing writing from authors past and present. Visiting a library also provides me an opportunity to experience the flavor of the local community, so I'll often visit regional historic libraries. I enjoy looking at the original architecture, imagining how things were with the bustle of people years ago when the building was in its original state. It's satisfying to get a sense of a town's qualities, like a fly on the wall. I can see the local patrons, notice how the library staff has arranged the spaces, become aware of what that place has deemed significant. For some reason I rarely take the time to pause and reflect in my own town's library. It's a very small library with a quiet section in the older, more distinctive part of the building. Today has been off-kilter, so this morning I took that time to sit and notice the book stacks; the wide, deeply stained wooden trim; the rare glimpse of sun peeking through the partial stained glass windows; the old fireplaces sitting unused.

I could feel that the space had provided me with the pause I needed to reframe my day. And it turned out that reframing was the solid foundation for a brief yet significant moment.

As I left the library and walked outside toward my car, I passed another car where a small child and her mother were getting out of their car. The girl was probably about four years old. For a brief moment, the young child and I caught sight of each other; locked eyes; and gave each other a big, silly smile as we each clutched our coats tightly and offered exaggerated shivers. The experience lasted maybe all of five seconds, but in that brief moment we truly noticed each other. We saw and acknowledged each other. We quickly conveyed our happiness with some giggles, despite--or maybe because of--the bitter chill in the air. Then we carried on our separate ways, each having made the other feel noticed and understood. No words needed. 

I love that. Moments like this make life lighter. Once that lightness soaks in, it spreads out. 

“What start[s] as a tiny swirl will gradually become a bigger circle,” Fumio Sasaki, Goodbye, Things: The New Japanese Minimalism, page 193.

Simple interactions like this are reason enough to be out in the community each day. For me, that moment of shared understanding offered a feeling of clarity, a reward for being present in the moment. It doesn’t seem like much, but when I remember to notice someone and I see them notice me--when we connect--we offer a drop of kindness that ripples and we positively impact the circles that spread throughout the day. 

I'm glad I didn't rush past that moment and miss the opportunity for my own tiny drop to turn into a swirl and intersect with the child's. We went on to interact with different types of people, different age groups of people. We won’t know how large our circles of kindness grew, all the people reached. Yet I know the swirls were there because I saw ours overlap and grow, and I have no doubt that together our noticing rippled out to our shared community.