When was the last time you stored a tiny, but important, detail, filed away for a rainy day? Not that random Jeopardy! fact you pull out for the win at game night, but something meaningful, perhaps about someone meaningful?
Noticing is a skill that, frankly, requires effort, especially in this age of constant noise.
After having two kids in two years, I realized my mental capacity was at a cap. My mind was filled to the brim with random, dissonant information — the names of every last blooming train on the island of Sodor, scheduling 37 appointments for all four humans (and three animals) in my family, exactly how many diced vegetables can fit on my sheet pan, the season premiere date of Game of Thrones — clashing and swirling around my head. All while trying to maintain some semblance of sanity and decorum, keep my household alive, and eat something before 2:00 p.m.
I began to notice that, even though I was out having conversations with people, my ability to recall information hinged on nonexistent, and I was frustrated at my inability to ask the questions that mattered. I also began to realize how loved I felt, even in my constant state of dishevelment, that certain friends took the time to remember the seemingly smallest details. Better yet, they didn’t ask for permission; they noticed and just did.
“You’re staying home for the first time in six years, right? Let’s do Christmas dinner together.”
“I know y’all have been fighting off a cold for the past two weeks, so I left some soup and rolls on your doorstep.”
“I’m going for a coffee run. What’s your order?”
So, I challenged myself to take note of the little details that matter. To battle my inability to recall information, I moved my Notes app to the first screen on my phone, where I keep a list of random observations filed away for a rainy day. This may be odd, but it’s helped me create a habit of noticing.
- My sitter was working hard to finish out the semester strong, so I kept a carafe of iced coffee for her in the fridge. She polished it off during finals week.
- My husband’s shoes were always soaking wet on a rainy day, courtesy of his 15-minute walk from the parking lot to his cubicle. He never complained about needing new shoes, but I bought him duck boots for Christmas, so he wouldn’t have to wear wet shoes all day. It rained/iced the first day he went back to work after Christmas.
- I wrote down my friend’s coffee order in my Notes app, and I surprised her with it on a play date a few weeks later. Little did I know, she had a sleepless night with her baby and was in desperate need of a pick-me-up.
When I’m out and about, I make it a point to not look at my phone and to interact with those around me. This should go without saying, but when I’m not absorbed in my virtual world, I’m able to be more present. Just a few months ago, I was struggling in the library with a toddler meltdown and a sobbing baby. I was having trouble holding both of my kids when another mother stepped in, took my car seat, and walked me to my car. I never got her name and could only manage to cry while hugging her, but that moment will stick with me for the rest of my life. She noticed me, and she just acted.
When I make a point to look around me, there’s a sea of people just waiting to be noticed: the jaded-from-working-holidays cashier, the mom with four kids struggling to get a cart, the elderly neighbor pulling her trash cans into the street. It doesn’t have to be a deliberate act of service — though those are almost always welcome — just a simple smile, eye contact, a “How are you doing today?”
Noticing is free of charge. You need only to invest your eyes to observe, your ears to listen, your mind to tuck away. And in return? The richness of your daily interactions, multipled tenfold.
