Behind the Puddle

I can’t unsee things anymore.

Before the patio, I knew there were birds in the backyard.

Of course there were birds.

I knew geese visited the puddle.

I knew we had squirrels somewhere around here.

I knew Great Blue Herons occasionally appeared.

I knew the water went up when it rained and down when it didn’t.

None of this was exactly a secret.

But knowing something exists and being aware of it are apparently very different things.

Now I notice when the feeders suddenly become quiet.

I hear a sound and look toward the trees.

I recognize the shape of a heron flying before I can see any detail.

I wonder where Shelly is.

I know when the puddle looks a little lower.

I notice when someone who usually visits hasn’t.

Even when I’m not deliberately watching, some part of me is paying attention.

And that awareness has followed me beyond the patio.

I look at birds differently when we’re driving somewhere.

I notice flowers that might attract hummingbirds.

I pay more attention to the weather.

I wonder about water.

I look at trees.

I notice things moving along the side of the road that I probably would have passed without a thought before.

The world didn’t suddenly become more interesting.

I became more aware of how interesting it had always been.

I think awareness works that way in the rest of our lives, too.

Once we truly notice something, it becomes difficult to return to not knowing.

We become aware that someone is struggling.

That a relationship has changed.

That our body is asking for something different.

That someone we love is getting older.

That a child isn’t quite as little as we still imagine them to be.

That a routine we thought would last forever has quietly disappeared.

That something we once tolerated no longer feels acceptable.

Or that something we barely appreciated has become deeply important to us.

Awareness doesn’t always tell us what to do with what we’ve noticed.

Sometimes that’s frustrating.

Seeing clearly doesn’t automatically provide an answer.

But it does change the way we move through the world.

I think that is what has happened behind the puddle.

Paying attention began as observation.

Who is visiting today?

What is swimming over there?

What kind of bird is that?

What is Pinecone trying to steal now?

But somewhere along the way, observation became gratitude.

I don’t just see the birds anymore.

I am grateful they are here.

I don’t just watch the seasons change.

I am aware that I am changing with them.

I don’t just notice an ordinary morning.

I understand a little better that there will never be another one exactly like it.

Maybe awareness is simply attention that has stayed long enough to become part of us.

We notice.

We keep noticing.

And eventually the things we have seen begin teaching us how we want to live.

I can’t unsee the world I have learned to notice behind the puddle.

I don’t think I want to.