the art of noticing.

raindrops collecting on a window.

Sometimes when the weather is nice, I sit on my patio and watch. The rigid movement of the trees in the wind. The passing vehicles in the distance. For a moment, the chaos feels like it’s settled.

About a year ago, a group of cats laid in the grass near my apartment. A few of the kittens rolled over each other without a care in the world. Their mother sat nearby, keeping an eye out. I wasn’t on my phone. I wasn’t listening to anything. I just sat there. I didn’t move. For fifteen minutes, the world seemed quieter. I remember wondering what the kittens were thinking about, if anything at all. They seemed peaceful. And because of that, I felt at peace too.

Other times, I notice it in the rain. We don’t get much rain in Arizona, so even the smallest moments feel meaningful. I’ll leave the window open and listen to the light pouring. I’ll watch the raindrops ripple across the pool. Or sit inside my car once it starts coming down harder. I try to make the most of it while it lasts. You never know when it’ll come again. If I could, I’d listen to natural rain every day. It softens everything around me: the sounds, the air, even my thoughts.

I often find myself paying attention to the same level of detail while traveling. Traveling across the U.S. at nineteen, I paid more attention to my surroundings than anything else. The desert in New Mexico didn’t feel like Arizona’s. It was soft in its own way. Passing through the vast mountains in Colorado made me feel small. Tennessee opened up into lush green countryside. Idaho’s pine forests felt surreal. Minnesota was vibrant and full of life up north. Illinois was full of flat, open farmland that seemed to stretch forever. I could keep going. Every place had something to offer if I looked. Its own rhythm. A quiet you have to be still enough to hear.

And then there’s just being at home, lying on my bed, listening to the air conditioner and the soft hum of the air purifier. The background noise that people usually tune out is sometimes the one thing that keeps me grounded. I don’t need to be doing anything, not even thinking. I can just be still. And that’s enough.

Our world is built to be fast-paced, constantly in motion, and driven by productivity. Most days rush past us, and we don’t really see what’s around. Everyone seems to be speeding on the road, as if those three seconds saved will somehow change our fate. But sometimes it helps to pause. Take a breath. Look around.

What do you notice first? Maybe it’s the colors around you, or the way light hits the wall. Perhaps it’s how the trees move with the breeze, without going anywhere.

Or it may be as minuscule as the fabric on your favorite shirt. You notice something new in the thread, like a pattern you hadn’t seen before.

There’s something calming about slowing down and letting things be as they are. It’s about noticing what we might take for granted. Most days the world moves so fast it’s easy to forget we’re even part of it. But the kittens don’t forget. The rain still takes its time. Even if we don’t always stop to notice, those quiet things keep going.

Perhaps the art of noticing is simply about letting yourself be. Not performing. Not fixing anything. Not scrolling. Just breathing. Watching. Listening. Being here.

What’s something you noticed today that stood out?

I’d like to know in the comments. Maybe it was something small that caught your attention, even if nobody else around you noticed.

How did it make you feel?