The Art of Noticing

The American flag wrapped around the flagpole in center field. A butterfly floating across the outfield. The heat of the sun on my neck on an August afternoon.

How do we sit with enough stillness to notice these things?

I had to be intentional today in order not to pick up my phone and scroll while waiting for my oil to be changed. Instead, I sat on the bleachers of a Little League field next to the auto shop. I'm trying to be more intentional about where my attention goes—I don't need to give it to the bright, shiny objects that live in the phone that always seems to be within reaching distance.

It can be painful to sit there and not be distracted. But the more I focus on what's happening right in front of me, the easier it becomes to fall into the simple things that happen all around us, all day long.

A hummingbird that hovers up to a begonia plant and then darts away as I look up at it. The sound of a garbage bin as my neighbor rolls it away from the curb and back down his driveway. Three maple leaves that sit on the sidewalk as I walk past on my way to the store.

The Master sees things as they are,

Without trying to control them.

She lets them go their own way,

And resides at the center of the circle.

Tao Te Ching

How can I reside at the center of the circle and just notice things as they are? Do I need to do anything with them? Or can I just sit in the late afternoon sunlight and listen to a cricket as he calls out to his mate?

It is late August and the crickets are getting louder. When did that happen? When did it become late August? I feel like I was just sitting at the July 4th parade, catching the lollipops thrown from the 4-H float. And now summer is sending gentle reminders that closing time is approaching.

I enjoy autumn—I'm just not ready to enjoy it yet.

My neighbor just turned off his lawnmower. How many more times am I going to hear that sound? How many more times am I going to mow my own lawn? It's been quite dry these past several weeks, and I've only run the mower twice this month. It felt like I was running it every five days in June to keep the yard from looking like a rainforest.

I looked at a tree yesterday that had prominent shades of yellow poking through—not all over the place, but prominent enough to notice. The season is changing whether I'm ready or not.

Maybe that's the practice: learning to reside at the center of the circle, watching the world turn around me without trying to control its rhythm. Just noticing. Just being present for the little bursts of joy on an ordinary August day.