Notice

I thought noticing meant paying closer attention. Maybe it also means letting myself be surprised.

I am good at seeing things most people ignore. I learned early in my life to be aware and pay attention, not because of any abuse or trauma, but because I was very clumsy. Over the years I have managed to get better at not tripping over my own feet when something catches my eye, although apparently there are still limits.

Noticing starts with seeing. A black-and-white bird I don't recognize. A tiny stream almost buried under greenery and hidden by stone. Those are the kinds of things I see. They aren't necessarily important and I don't have to do anything with them. Something catches my attention and, instead of immediately moving on, I stop and look.

I have no lesson for you this week, only a suggestion. Look out your nearest window and slowly look up, down and sideways. Stop when something draws your attention and really look at it. This isn't a quick scan but a slow, deliberate look. Or, if you can, step outside and walk 100 yards in any direction and do the same thing. The point is simply to see what you might normally skip over. That is noticing.

Noticing doesn't have to be directed outward. I am tired today, and that is another way to notice. Turn the same attention toward yourself. Pay attention to the aches and pains, the feel of the fabric against your skin, what feels good and what feels bad. Notice even the things you generally don't pay attention to. Give yourself the same slow attention you just gave the world outside your window.

Calgary gave me plenty of opportunities to practice this. I went to Reader Rock Garden expecting a rock garden laid out on relatively level ground, only to discover that the rocks were actually steps and the garden was vertical. It was a beautiful place, emphasis on beautiful, but definitely not what I expected. I probably wouldn't have seen nearly as much of it if I hadn't been determined to reach the café, which, as it happens, sits about halfway up what felt very much like a rock mountain.

The next day I went to the Calgary Central Library expecting an uninspiring building full of books and things. Instead, I found somewhere I could have explored for hours. Even the building surprised me, with its shape inspired by a Chinook cloud. I was particularly drawn to the fourth floor, with its Indigenous teachings and books, Canadian and world history, and inviting places to sit and read. Did I mention that this place was huge?

Maybe that is what I am learning about noticing. It isn't about searching for something extraordinary. It is about giving the ordinary enough time to become interesting. Expectation tells us what we think we're going to see. Noticing gives what is actually there a chance to surprise us. 

What Rest Looked Like This Week

When I chose Rest as the focus for the first week of August, I imagined a slower week. I imagined staying late in bed, reading, watching TV, all the things that come to mind when you think of rest. That didn't happen.

Instead, I've spent the week getting ready for Calgary. There have been lists to make, things to pack, appointments to remember, laundry to finish, journal pages to complete, and all the ordinary chores that somehow multiply whenever you're about to leave home.

Then there's the housework. Dishes, sweeping, and all those little jobs I usually put off. I hate housework, but I know I'll appreciate coming home to a clean apartment instead of having to deal with it after a week away.

A few days earlier there was also our road trip back to Buckhorn. It wasn't physically restful, but it settled something in me that I didn't know still needed settling. Sometimes the heart rests before the body does.

In many ways the trip was restful, albeit full of memories. Along with the memories came peace in seeing things from my growing-up years that remain true in spirit, like Sandy Lake and Cody Inn. They are cherished memories, and I think that gives peace of mind and, in its own way, rest.

This week reminded me that rest isn't always measured by how many hours you spend in a chair. Sometimes it's measured by how little you're rushing inside your own head.

There were moments.

Standing by the lazy river and allowing its current to sweep away some of my fatigue. The sound of rushing water eases my mind and lets it rest for a little while.

Spending time with my girls and the important men in their lives. I was spending time with loved ones, and that was another reason the day felt restful.

Getting a stack of photos I thought were long gone, including some really old ones from my Dad's album. Looking through them reminded me just how many wonderful places I've been and experiences I've had. They are cherished memories, and I think that gives peace of mind and, in its own way, rest.

Planning and dreaming about spending four days in Calgary, free to explore anything I want without any of the pressures I feel here at home.

Writing in my journal and sharing scrapbook pages of the memories I've collected, hoping they'll mean something to whoever looks at them after I'm gone, instead of simply checking another task off the list. Though there was some of that too.

None of those moments lasted very long, but each one let me breathe a little easier. They let my mind relax and experience what was going on around me without worry or fear.

I've spent much of this year learning that I don't have to earn rest by exhausting myself first. I'm still not very good at believing it, especially before a trip when there always seems to be one more thing that needs doing. But I'm getting better at noticing the small pauses hidden inside busy days. Maybe that's what rest was this week.

Calgary will have its own adventures, its own discoveries, and probably its own tired evenings. I'm hoping I'll find a few more quiet moments there too.

For now, my version of rest is knowing that the preparations are almost finished. Soon, it will be time to go.