How often do we notice, or fail to notice, the things that exist on the edges of our lives? Or the things that we see every day?
I came across this photo the other day, and I thought, “that’s pretty, where was that taken?” And then I realized that it is the swamp just down the hill from my house. And I didn’t recognize it! I was, to say the least, dumbfounded. I mean, I drive or run past there at least several times a week. And I’ve always loved the swamp, it is peaceful, beautiful, and home to scores of blue herons in the summer, but I can’t remember the last time I actually walked down there and just spent some time looking at it. Taking it in. Enjoying it.
I realized I spend much of my life with my head down, both literally and figuratively. I spend my days looking at a computer screen, or a desk, or the stove, or the kitchen sink. And when I’m not looking down, I’m looking inward, at the next task, the next job, the endless “to do” list that is daily existence.
I end up so focused on my own little mediocre life that I forget to look up, or outward, or away from the task at hand and notice the world, and the people, around me. Really, really notice them.
So here’s something I need to add: stop and smell the roses. Kiss my husband. Hug my kids (or at least text them!). In other words: pay attention.
Or one day I’ll be looking at a picture of my husband, or my children, or myself even, and will find myself saying, “Who the heck is that?”
The older you get, the faster time flies by–days blur together, seasons, years, and the next thing you know you don’t even recognize the swamp down the road from your house.
You’ve forgotten, once again, to take time to enjoy the view.
Your view. The one that is right in front of you every single day.
Is it possible that I’m just getting senile?
Better write myself a note.
Stop. Smell roses. Inhale.