Do you know those beautiful, old-timey letters people used to write each other, where they’d add a few paragraphs about their day, every day, and then send the letter to their loved one after week or two?
I’ve always loved reading them (and not just because it feels like something they’d do on Outlander.) I love the sneak-peek they give into someone’s day, their mood, their headspace. I love how what is not said can be just as informative as what is. I love the way the letter forms a conversation of sorts, not only between past versions of the writer’s self, but also the person reading it.
So, I’ve decided to try writing an epistolary-style post here. Because why not? If the internet was made for anything, surely it was so that a 41-year-old woman could write about the random minutiae of her days? Right?
And who knows? If it’s something you/I like, maybe I’ll make them a regular thing for my wonderfully supportive paying subscribers. (I’ve put the majority of this post behind the paywall because these little snapshots haven’t run through the normal filters I apply to most of my writing and it feels a little more vulnerable than usual.)
Why noticing?
I used to be so bad at noticing. I would spend all my time up in my head, or doing things like drinking or striving or comparing or scrolling in order to avoid what was inside of it… but never would I notice. Never would I pay attention.
I spent years living mindlessly, jumping from one thing to the next, telling myself that once I got everything finished, then I’d slow down. Then I’d stop and live deeply.
But the joke was, I never “got everything finished”. There was always more to do, more to strive for, more to chase. It wasn’t until my psychiatrist at the time suggested I slow down, do a little less, that I had really considered any other mode of being.
She taught me how to pay attention to my senses, one at a time, and how to inhabit the practise of noticing things around me. Through her I discovered what it was to live mindfully, to stop and see the tiny joys and beauties and pains and sensations and sweet, exasperating life that was happening right in front of my eyes, and now, I try to make noticing one of my daily practises.
To me, it’s both a superpower and a shortcut to slowness. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, or convinced that I don’t have time, I stop and notice something tiny, just for a few seconds. And without fail, it stretches my experience of time. It makes it more. It gives me something that all the rushing in the world couldn’t give me: room to breathe, when only seconds earlier I would have sworn there was not a second to spare.
As powerful as it is, there are times where the ritual of regular noticing slips by the wayside. So this is my attempt to spend time noticing every day, and my invitation for you to join me.
(What follows is a glimpse inside my brain. Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors or typos — this is more of a what you see is what you get kind of post, written in little pockets of my day.)
Monday
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