By Wendy Morical
Little boy on train: Mama?
His mum: Yes?
Little boy: I never see you brush your hair.
His mum: I do a lot of things you don’t see.
(Pause)
Little boy: Like flying?
This precious exchange is an overheard snippet of conversation jotted down by Miranda Keeling, shared initially via her Instagram (@MirandaKeeling) but included in her small book, The Year I Stopped to Notice. This book compiles some of Miranda Keeling’s “small moments” – details she spots that make ordinary life seem extraordinary to her. She describes herself as “captivated by the ordinary” and has made a name sharing small, small observations via Instagram, podcast, and her book. They aren’t striking, life-changing events, but simply normal moments of people going about their people-ness that have captured Keeling’s attention.
Here's another example: “A lady pretends she isn't reading the book of a man beside her on the bus, who pretends he isn't holding it so it's easier for her to do so.”
We find what we look for. The practice of looking for small moments of joy and delight, as Keeling has done, is a discipline. Many of her quoted conversational tidbits are children’s voices, as children often model for us the close attention and willing sense of wonder that we’ve lost as we mature, grow jaded, become inured to delight. We can relearn how to pay attention.
Therapist and author Mary Pipher describes a friend who looks for evidence of love wherever she goes: “If she sees a couple holding hands while they wait for a bus, or a silver-haired lady carrying an ice-cream cone into a hospital, … she feels a ping of pleasure at further evidence of love in the universe.” I have been inspired to make a practice of this as well.
Dreading a series of stops in downtown Bozeman last fall, I challenged myself to look for evidence of joy rather than focusing on the crowds of tourists, the expensive stores, and the hopeless search for parking. I even carried a little notebook in which I could jot down what evidence I found. This was a fun and gratifying way to focus on all the lovely things about Bozeman and its inhabitants: Well-tended planters blooming, happy dogs wagging, an old friend working at the bookstore… you get the idea. On many occasions since then, I have prompted myself, “Look for joy.”
Pay attention. What you look for, you will find. Make a habit of looking for delight.