Why It’s Time to Pay Attention
There is a realization I have occasionally that gets my attention like a whisper in the ear. It’s the moment I become aware that a time will come when I’m no longer there- wherever there happens to be- and I will never see the people around me again. All these people I’ve become so used to. Not in a death kind of way, but in a life moves on and changes kind of way. That whisper comes in much stronger when I’m particularly dissatisfied with where I am. I’m not sure if that’s because of its contrast with the thoughts I usually have for the place or because whatever is whispering in my ear really needs me to pay attention. I think it’s probably the latter.
This time, it happened when I was about to go home from my town’s Friday market. Each shoulder was weighed down with full bags of greens, eggs, bread and fruit, and my free hand clutched a bouquet of mimosas. It was gloomy with February cold, and I was grumpy about being there. I walked under the stone archway leading out of the square to rush home, and then stopped.
It’s a typical outdoor European town market. The arms of two plane trees span over the entire square, providing relieving shade in summer. My carrot man wiped his hands on his apron and walked over to his look-alike son who was scraping the skin off a carrot for his toddler. The two older couples that bring their produce up from Spain bickered with each other, slapping metal bowls down on the scale to weigh customer’s selections before dumping the contents into plastic bags. My spirulina dealer laughed with the twentieth person of the day questioning her about what on earth spirulina is for and how they should consume it. Her eyes and skin glow with the kind of health that makes it impossible to know how old a person actually is. I attribute this to the spirulina and buy from her religiously. My egg man stacked his cartons together as an old woman pulling a grocery trolley walked off with the last half dozen of his brown speckled eggs. I always buy eggs from him because each one glows a new shade of brown and is freckled as beautifully as skin. Choosing one from the box feels like its own treat before cracking it into a pan.
I’ve had a challenging relationship with this place. Its geography has felt isolating, in a valley surrounded by three high plateaus that have to be climbed before traversing miles of moonscape to get anywhere that’s my kind of lively. Its population has left me uninspired since I’ve seen my interests reflected in so few of the people I meet, or maybe they’re just harder to notice on the other side of the language barrier. Inspiration and motivation have felt ever diminished by these factors over the last few years, but when I turned to look back, it felt impossible that all the people and things that become such background details in our daily landscape eventually cease to be part of our days. Having moved nine times since leaving my parent’s house, it may be something I’m more aware of than others.
It was the first time I’d had the feeling here. In that moment, I resolved to spend more time living outside my head and more time appreciating what I have access to and the people that are here to exchange with. A wave of gratitude filled me.
The first time I remember being aware of the impermanence of the moment and my presence in a place was during a family vacation to Cocoa Beach Florida when I was twelve. We were leaving in a couple hours, and it was my last chance to be on the beach. As I walked away from the water for the final time, I stopped to really look and feel where I was, taking mental snapshot. I must have recently become aware of that strange feeling when you were just somewhere, maybe on a vacation you really enjoyed or with someone you won’t see for a long time, and later the simplicity of how you moved your physical body away from that situation back to regular life makes it seem like you should just be able to lift up and drop yourself right back where you were. Into a time that’s passed. It’s in that moment you notice whether you could have paid more attention instead of thinking about the next thing or place- if only you had known.
The day after the market, my husband came home and told me that he’s being transferred. We’ll be leaving Millau in either four months or eight months. It’s still unclear which, but it’s happening. Mixed with excitement at the idea of living somewhere new that could provide more of what I need to feel like myself, there’s always the bounce back- worrying about whether I could have made more of where I am, or that I won’t have access to the things I do appreciate and have slowly taken for granted.
Then comes the frustration that a pattern seems to be repeating. As dissatisfied as I’d been with the place we lived before this one, I also spent a lot of time missing it once we left, and kicking myself for not having handled my opportunities and time there differently. And the place before that… and the place before that… By now I could know better.
But I do know better. It won’t be perfect- the old me rising up every so often to have a tantrum about the shortcomings of my surroundings (when the shortcoming is really my own choice of presence and perspective), but it’s a practice. While moments may slip away, practice is always the reliable beauty we can slip back into.
In the cloud of little (or big) dissatisfactions for the present, what magic have you been overlooking?
Who in your present environment have you been wanting to speak to, or what have you been thinking of trying that you just haven’t bothered with yet?
What is one thing you can place even more attention and appreciation on? . . . Just in case things change.