Everything Waits to Be Noticed

I have never been as observant as I would like to be. I'd probably be a better writer (and teacher and parent and friend and just about everything else) if I were. I'm also not very good at living in the moment. As one of my mentors, the poet Mark Doty, said, humans live in memory and anticipation. He noted that dogs, on the other hand, live in the present. I believe that these observations are true. How much time do we spend reflecting on what was or what might have been, while at the same time, worrying about the future or waiting impatiently for it? But as soon as you walk in the door, a dog will have no memory of the hours you were away from him, nor will he think that you are going to leave him again the next morning. You are here NOW, and that's all that matters.

I am trying, at my advanced age, to correct these bad habits of mine. It's harder than you think (unless you are trying to do it, too). Here's a perfect example: Most mornings, ten minutes after I've stumbled out of bed, I am on my way to a local park to begin a five-mile walk/run as soon as the sun comes up. At that early hour, I am often the only human in sight, and I like it that way. It only takes a little more than an hour to do my thing, depending, of course, on how much I walk and how much I run and how much I chat with a passing bicyclist. But most of the time, I am trying to hurry, eager for that morning coffee back at my place. (Anticipation?)

This is wrong-headed! This morning walk is likely the best part of my day, and I'm trying to hurry it along?

Whenever my better self points this out to me, I slow down and try to take in this simple beauty with no regard for what comes next. So, yeah, I'm good for a day or two, and then the old me, the one who's always looking ahead, re-emerges. Old habits (and faults) die hard.

This morning was one of those mornings when I declared the clock be damned. I took my time, walking more than running, and stopping along the way to observe. I was rewarded many times over. Although I have seen a couple of wild parakeets in the trees many times, I have never witnessed a flock of them fly overhead, screaming their signature noise. But that was nothing compared to the gathering of egrets across the lake. Again, there are always egrets at the park, but today, there must have been a party, because they just kept coming and coming. I watched from the other shore and stopped counting after 40.

I took the time to sneak up on a Great Blue Heron (my favorite bird) and he rewarded me by  allowing me to get really close before he took off. There were smaller birds, too, ones that I don't have names for, and I was thinking about them when my iTunes treated me to Art Garfunkel's "Everything Waits to Be Noticed," a gorgeous song from his 2002 release of the same name. I don't know why it is that music so often shakes its finger at me and says, "Listen to this!" But I do pay attention, and today's lesson was heard.

There is so much to be noticed. And the natural world has so much patience. I can't wait to get to the park tomorrow! (Oh, snap! There's that anticipation again.)

The heron who let me get so close!