We take notice of the things that ask for our attention: the things that bellow and the things that whisper, the things that invite us and the things that come barging in. We take note of what is reaching for us, and what wants to hold us, what wants to be held.
We notice our bodies asking for our attention. We notice our breath. And the back pain. We become aware of how we walk lately, the way our feet hit the ground and our hips roll and arms swing. We notice the anger that lives in the belly. We notice how the trauma is asking for big, intentional healing and try not to be scared of the grief that will come with it. We notice that we are constantly needing rest, constantly need to go, walk more, work more, and be more. One of us is slowing down, way down, down to an uncomfortable pace to care for ourselves after surgery. My sister, pregnant for the sixth time, and for the first time hearing a heartbeat, is paying attention to the life that is growing inside her every day. We notice what it feels like to bring our attention to the pain instead of ignoring it. We notice what it feels like to notice how we feel.
We notice that we might be lost. We think about the future a lot, but have no idea what it looks like, what it will look like. We notice that it doesn't make a difference to acknowledge that no one actually knows what the future holds. We notice all of the changes (change of mind, change of heart, change of the feeling in the room). We feel lost in our own thoughts and notice our overthinking. My friend asks how it's possible to hold so much grief and so much joy at the same time; moments apart, they demand her attention. Someone is noticing the CVS receipt-length to-do list. Someone's fridge is begging for them to clean it. I think we all notice the beckoning to slow down, slow down more, slow down even more than that.
We notice the change in season, we notice our need to be outside and not miss any of it. We notice the surprising warmth of October. The low southern sun filtered through the aspen leaves. How much sentimentality exists in the changing of seasons. How real-time feels when the leaves fall. We notice the harvest. We notice how October sunshine in Chicago makes our mouths water. We notice the stars. We notice the starry night sky. We notice the horizon and not losing sight of it. The autumn sun pierces our cheeks. We notice the gardeners in the neighbourhood digging up annuals. We notice how the passage of time feels both meaningless and urgently important all at once. We notice that their favourite flowers are growing wild down every block. We notice it's not over yet.
We notice the people in our lives and the way they make us feel, we notice how we feel about them. The people who make us feel seen. We notice our patterns of reacting to unhealthy people and wonder what we can change. We notice how some people easily sacrifice their friendships for their partners. We notice the thoughtfulness of others. We notice the buses with everyone going everywhere, each of them having a story. We notice people and their quirks. We notice the rigid smiles of the ones who used to be more than acquaintances. The kindness in the daycare teacher's eyes. We notice the indifference of a lover. We notice our jelly knees when they look at us. We notice that paying close personal attention to someone is the purest form of love. That we can't love our partners well when we're not loving ourselves. We notice sibling relationships suspended in the in-between. We notice what it feels like to be in love for the first time. Someone shares that they have a group trip with their friends in two weeks and the boy who broke her heart will be there. I notice all that comes up inside my own heart after reading that.
We notice the child within, their chattering questions (mostly: am I safe? Will you love me?). We notice our happiness and the things that make us happy. We notice our relationship to the word happy. We notice our capacity. We notice our lack of capacity. We notice how stillness is practically begging us for a visit. We notice all the good things there are to do. All the good things there are to feel. All the good that could be done.
We notice what it feels like to take notes and check in and see what is asking for attention (demanding attention, taking attention for itself). We notice how the world changes when we remember we are alive within it.