The price and prize of noticing
on spider webs and paying attention and podcasts and a quick poll
(This voiceover is an audio version of the newsletter below. It’s unedited, and today includes our dogs and some very noisy birds and a few word stumbles. If you like/need to listen to these posts I hope you enjoy it anyway!)
Before I get into today’s letter, just a quick note to let you know that The Tortoise podcast has launched! We dropped a sneaky little preview episode earlier in the week and the first full episode was released yesterday morning.
It’s wonderful to be back podcasting with Ben, and I’m excited to hear your thoughts. You can take a listen here in Substack, or subscribe to the podcast on your favourite podcast app (Apple, Spotify, Stitcher and all the usual suspects).
If you haven’t already subscribed to The Tortoise (hello!) you can also join our lovely little community here and receive a slow-living letter to your inbox (almost) every Friday, as well as monthly podcast eps. Just add your name below:
But for now, let’s dig in to today’s letter. Truth be told, I’m weirdly anxious about this one. Not sure why. Anyway! I hope you enjoy it.
There’s a spider web outside our bedroom window, and I think it’s beautiful. It hangs across our front veranda and in the mornings is covered in tiny drops of dew. A plump little spider lives in the middle of it and it always makes me happy to see them weaving more of their web or wrapping up a dead fly, (I’m presuming) to eat later.
Or at least, it did make me happy. Until I learnt recently that scientists from Oxford University have discovered that the webs of some spiders are less like a tool to capture prey, and more like a journal or photo album; somewhere thoughts and memories and lessons take physical shape. They suggest that a spider’s web can be classified as ‘extended cognition’, or, in other words, a mind that exists outside the mind.
Now, let me just say, I have no problem with spiders. They eat flies and are wonderful to have in the garden. I have a pretty strict no-kill policy and use the tried and tested ‘glass over, paper under’ technique of relocating them whenever necessary. But learning this about them still made me feel things. Uncomfortable things.
Not because it means there’s a giant spider’s brain hanging outside my bedroom window (though saying it like that does sound unnerving) but because suddenly, the web is no longer just a web, it’s part of a living, breathing creature’s consciousness. Which, of course, means I immediately think about all the spider webs I’ve ever destroyed over the years – accidentally or on purpose – and am gripped by slightly ridiculous feelings of guilt and sadness.
And even though I’m being a bit earnest here (which is surprising to no-one, I guess) it does feel uncomfortable, knowing that the web outside my bedroom window is more than just some beautiful strands of silk. It is the physical embodiment of that spider’s memories and learnings; a dew-jewelled memoir.
It’s a reminder of the complexity that exists around us, unseen and unnoticed. And of how coming to notice it can sometimes prove to be painful.
I mean, what happens when I inevitably need to clear the spider webs from my car in the morning? Or when our bathroom window spider, Fred, gives birth to a hundred tiny baby Freds and they all want to take up residence inside?*
To be honest, there’s days where I find myself wishing I noticed just a little less.
Days where, until I stop and pay attention, I’m completely unaware of how rampant my thoughts are, how tight my muscles, how shallow my breath. It’s not until I notice them, that I notice them. (Which is both the problem and the point, I guess).
Sometimes that moment of noticing is wonderful and liberating. Sometimes I take those thoughts and let them wash over and through me. Sometimes I stretch those tense muscles. Sometimes my shallow breaths can become deeper.
But sometimes it’s uncomfortable. Sometimes I might notice loneliness or stress or relentless comparisons or never-enoughs. And who has the time to deal with all of that?
Noticing more inevitably means we feel more, and sometimes, that makes living in the world uncomfortable.
So, on those days, maybe we try to distract ourselves or dull the noticing. Maybe that’s when I find myself scrolling or reading or watching old episodes of Outlander or throwing myself into a project so I don’t have to engage. And that’s okay. Tuning out can absolutely be an act of self-preservation that is sometimes necessary in a world that comes at us from all angles, at all hours of the day.
But I don’t think distraction is always the answer. (I don’t even think that it’s mostly the answer.) Because if noticing is a coin, and discomfort is one side of it, I think the flip side is beauty.
They are the price and the prize.
If we didn’t notice so much, would there be art? Would there be music so full of feeling and memory that it makes me cry? Would there be movies that change the way I see the world? Would there be stories that move me so deeply I’m inspired to uproot my entire life?
If we didn’t notice so much, would there be awe? Would I still remember the disbelief of discovering a baby praying mantis inside a perfect dandelion head? Would the bark of a ponderosa pine smell so much like cinnamon and vanilla? Would the cold embrace of the ocean leave my skin fizzing for hours after?
If we didn’t notice so much, would there be delight? Would the “I love you too, Mum,” make my heart swell so fully? Would the mundane notes in my logbook transform so completely into a day fully lived? Would I find myself entranced by the sky at dusk, trying to find the spot where pink turns to blue?
Noticing can bring discomfort, absolutely. But it also brings beauty.
It gives us the full depth and breadth of life. It offers us the joy, the sadness, the jealousy, the bitterness, the goosebumps, the fear, the elation. The journal, the photo album, the memoir – the whole kit and caboodle.
I’m Currently…
Feeling nostalgic. I’ve been thinking about our big 2018/19 Canadian adventure a lot lately, full to the brim with a mix of awe, gratitude and homesickness. I miss our friends and I miss the mountains. We’re planning to watch The Last of Us soon and it’s in no small part because a few episodes were filmed around Canmore, which was our home base. (Well, that and Pedro Pascal.)
Thinking about the finale of The White Lotus S2. Oh man. I loved it so much. S1 was mad-cap and S2 is definitely darker but I loved every cringey second of it.
Making a list of all your amazing book recommendations from last week’s post. I’ll share it next week in case anyone else is as enamoured with fantasy as I am.
Smelling dinner. Ben’s cooking and I can smell potatoes roasting (they’re homegrown!) and my mouth is watering.
Patting Joey on the head. He’s recovered from his glass-smashing ridiculousness and funnily enough, hasn’t jumped up at the front door once.
Just a reminder that the final week of our values workshop goes live this Sunday morning. I’ve had some brilliant questions come through, so hopefully the Q&A video will prove helpful. It’s been so wonderful to see so many of you digging in to the topic of values, and I’m excited about ideas for future online offerings too.
A quick question, if you have a second:
And that’s it for the week. Here’s to the weekend, mates. I hope it’s lovely, with little moments of beauty sprinkled in.
Brooke xx
*we live in a spidery part of the world, what can I say?
Brooke, this is a beautiful letter and I totally relate to what you're sharing here. Noticing definitely feels like a double-edged sword sometimes! But the beauty, the art, the knowing... It's what life really is, isn't it? Those tiny moments and observations - spiders' webs, shadow shapes, flower petals curling, all of it. I think not noticing would be trying to block out pain and then missing out on joy - it's not worth missing one to be relieved of the other. "The prize and the price" just like you said. ✨
This is life. The more alive and connected we are the more we notice, the more we notice the higher the price. But oh what a dull and monotonous journey life would be without all the prizes and the price. But sometimes it would be so nice to just have a little break from all the thoughts and feelings, sometimes ignorance can be bliss.