Noticing

I was such an oblivious young person. The world revolved around my perceptions, and they weren’t very nuanced. Aging changed all that. Not nearly fast enough. I remember going to grad school when I was in my late thirties still believing the world was like I perceived it to be. It wasn’t until my stroke in my mid-fifties that I began to get a clue about how far off I was. When I realized everything was passing so quickly I began to perceive the world so much more accurately. Still, I had a long way to go. I’ve had to get old enough to be occasionally embarrassed by my age to grasp and begin to believe what I actually noticed. It is when I could take in the real complexity of everyone, and began enjoying the uniqueness of who they were, and could sense the wild profusion that surrounds me, that I began to get that things are not at all what they seemed to be. There is something going on, that I am catching glimpses of — but am somehow only being let in on, if I pay real attention.

Finally, I noticed, that I hadn’t truly noticed much. That is what started me writing the Slow Lane. I attributed much of my failure to notice to speed. No doubt that was partially true. Speed does distort everything. But, I came to grasp that it was my arrogant beliefs, that kept me away from the what melded unpredictability and uncertainty into the world I was living in. Since then, I’ve grasped that I have a lot to unlearn. Instead, of arrogantly trying to fit in, I am now quietly trying to let things come to me. The Mystery is friendly, but requires a deferential presence.

Growing older is certainly a lesson in humility, especially with regard to noticing. Happily, aging has provided me with a kind of ballast that helps me withstand much of the pretense that appears almost everywhere. One of the reasons we older people struggle so much with loneliness and isolation is that many others prefer pretense to what we now are capable of perceiving. Life has some requirements that go way beyond the cultural moment. I’ve grown up, as I grew less and less what I was supposed to be.

I was trained as a psychotherapist. I was supposed to notice some things, mainly what was wrong. But, something happened on the way to a successful career. I noticed what was right. Going from pathology to wholeness, from noticing failure, to noticing courage and success, altered everything, and introduced me to a Universe of possibility. I began to wonder. I noticed other things about Life, that I’d been misinformed about. The stroke, which drove me to the edges of social reality, helped me notice that there was a lot more not known than there was presumably known. I fell into nonconventional noticing. Aging became a romp in an untethered world. What a delight, I noticed the freedom from dreary pretense!

I cannot claim to be fully grown. I simply say “I’m ripening.” But, noticing has developed into awe. I can rarely have an encounter where I don’t come-away with some deep impression. What I perceive isn’t always accurate, but is a lot nearer the mark than before. Plus, now I’m imbued with a more demanding curiosity, that insists I notice the uniqueness of the ones I face. I am always poised for surprise. Noticing has become a kind of passport into the magical-spiritual realms. Lately, I’ve come to believe there is no such thing as a failure to communicate. Aging, has resulted in openness to Life’s impingement.

As I said before it didn’t start out this way. I was granted the same senses as everyone else. I noticed something in the air. I didn’t know it. Life directed my attention. It ran me through a mill I could never imagine. In my case, being reduced to a portion of my former self (something I think happens to all of us, as we age), had the affect of sharpening my attention, and awakening me from the dream I was compellingly lost in. The world took on a glow I couldn’t adequately account for. Sensations bombard me now.

Noticing, now goes beyond my attitudes. I periodically lose heart, I go into a funk where hopelessness assails me, turning me back into a human doing, trying again to earn my salvation. Even when that happens, noticing distracts me. Reverie overtakes me, and I am delivered back into this strange world that always captures my attention. I notice, whether I want to or not.

Sometimes I feel this is a blessing, sometimes not. It doesn’t seem to matter. I end-up noticing stuff anyway. At-the-moment, I think I’m some kind of noticing machine, a flesh and blood probe, sent here by some truly sentient species to gather impressions. In other words, programmed to drink it all in. If it weren’t for my youthful blindness, I might believe that. Instead, it appears, as though aging has made me more aware.  Not just more aware, quantitatively, but qualitatively too. I seem to notice more what matters. Each moment seems to have a patina of meaning.

I can’t get over it. I’m so depressed I’m thrilled. Life keeps running me through the wringer. I’ve become slap happy. Noticing goes on like a nightmarish dream, turning into a warm bath of belonging.  I would be remiss if I said this was the way it is. I’ve noticed how myopic I can be. But, and here is the good/bad news, it goes on anyway. My shortcomings are just more gris for the mill.

Now tell me, how does it play out for you? Have you noticed?