Tuning Up Your Noticer

You may have noticed; most people’s noticers don’t notice all that much any more. So much flows right past them, rivers of notably, noticeable stuff, flutters of utter coolness, nattering and gestures of kindness, waves of sadness, grief and fear. I’ve noticed that sometimes the most notice-worthy wonders stand perfectly still while too busy eyes dart and twitch, and scan their surroundings, seeing practically nothing, flowing right on past the notice-worthy things while obsessing over trifles and trivialities, without so much as a “Well ain’t that the bee’s knees?”

Crow and I watched three people walk right past him, beneath him and never even know he was there. I waited until they were gone to make his rainy portrait, with permission, of course.

It’s tricky to hear that faint trill of a Golden-crowned Kinglet high in a cedar tree with ear buds in, while you’re listening to the latest podcast by those hilarious Thunderclap Sisters and texting back and forth with your eternally put-upon friend who was so insulted by the carelessness of the UPS driver yesterday and again this morning when that clueless girl at Starbucks wrote her name wrong on her drink cup again. Jail!

Attention is in short supply. Almost as much as kindness. Unless, of course it isn’t. I mean, think of it, think of all the people you know who don’t miss even one teensy weensie little chance to be offended.

Yep.

Scorekeeping is definitely worth noticing. Slights and inconveniences. Poking of the bear. Calling bullshit. Owning those goddam libs.

I know several people who will spend eighty bucks a month to sit at an exercise contraption in some sweat hog gym trying to attain just a bit more ‘definition’ in a certain enviable muscle group. They’ll invest countless hours and dollars, and all sorts of emotional capital just to be able to show off a bit more delineation in their ‘six-pack,’ their biceps, their butt meat. WooHoo!

But then they’ll practically brag about not being able to pay attention for more than half a minute any more when they try to read a book, or listen to grandma’s endless stories and think it’s downright amazing when someone observes some momentary loveliness they’ve walked right past a dozen times in the past month and never noticed.

No, Billy, it’s not a Christmas miracle. Yes, really. It’s just called paying attention. Noticers are people too.

So many folks complaining that they get bored easily, who seem surprised by and a little disdainful of those who continually find things to be fascinated by, acting as if the noticers are the weirdos for actually paying attention (apparently, not cool), and well, for being so (insert ennui face here), nerdy. 😒😒😒

So here’s the thing. Your noticer may be noticing just the right amount for you. For the walk through life that makes you happy. Which, if it is, would be pretty much awesome. No need to read another word.

But what if you’ve noticed that you don’t notice so good, that you miss a lot of the cool stuff, the wild, innocent stuff that makes some folks so deliriously goofy. Like frog eggs in the pond in early spring and garter snakes sunning themselves on the rock wall on a chilly morning in May, and sleepy bumble bees tucked into nodding, dew-laden flowers, and crows carefully watching that dude with the binoculars because they’ve noticed that he talks to other birds, too, not just them and notices practically everything, so he might have noticed some carefully hidden bird nest full of eggs or baby chicks that they’ve missed but he didn’t, and wow wouldn’t a couple of fresh robin’s eggs taste great about now?

Crows are so weird.

But their noticers are legendary.

I mean, did you notice how, out of all those lines pointing this way and that in the haze he spotted those two bald eagles way off over there atop that light pole, beyond the containers and halfway between those giant, ship-loading cranes on the far side of the rail yard and those newer, sorting cranes on this side? Yep, noticer dialed up to eleven: eyes, ears, sniffer, tongue, gloveless fingers.

Gonna be time for resolutions soon. New year, new you, amiright?

Gym memberships will go up and with it, for at least a few weeks, gym attendance. After that, meh, same old-same old.

What if you pocketed some of that gym money and started walking? I mean, like every day. And instead of fearing your ensuing boredom and feeding your need to always, always be distracted and at least seeming to be ‘accomplishing’ a gazillion important things, you left the earbuds at home and your phone in your pocket and began to listen to what the world around you is saying, what it is in some cases, actually singing.

Probably half the birds I see on any given walk, I hear first. I notice what they’re saying or hear their little birdy toes scritching through the fallen leaves beneath the woodland trees or listen in on one of their arguments with one another. Hearing them helps focus my attention, tells me where to look.

I invite, no, encourage my screen-weary eyes to pause momentarily and refocus a thousand times at wildly different distances, trying to see magic, recognize little blips in the pattern, little furred and scaled and feathered creatures watching me, or ignoring me while looking for caterpillars and gnats, or simply singing their hearts out as the sun comes up. And strangely, that knot between my eyes begins to unwind.

Noticing…

Where poems come from. And lyrics. And paintings. And perfect, just right gifts. And hugs for your fretful person. And chills that run up and down your spine. And nuanced deliciousness with just the perfect amount of spice. And fingers that tenderly brush back your hair or touch your tear-streaked cheek, or pick a bit of lint off your collar.

And simple, heartfelt compliments…

Noticing.

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