"Today we're going to learn how to notice," I said. "Today we’re going to practice noticing.” Then I stopped talking and we started practicing noticing right away. Since you can't practice noticing with nothing, I made a pot of coconut tea, and we used it as our something-to-practice-noticing-with.
We listened to the water bubble and boil, and when the bell on the kettle sounded, I picked up the kettle and poured the water into the teapot. We saw steam rise, and we heard the water pour. We lifted our glass teacups to the light, and we saw the green tea sparkle like a gemstone. We touched the iron teapot with our fingertips, and we felt how warm it was. We smelled the tea. We drank it. We noticed it with our palates. Then I played a brief sound recording I'd made the day before, and we practiced noticing that too.
"You're going to notice the mockingbird," I said. "That's the main bird you'll hear. But keep your ears open for other sounds too." We heard mourning doves hooting, cars zooming by, a nail gun in the distance, the metro zooming by and the crunch of fallen leaves under my slowly rolling bicycle tires. When the recording had finished, they were amazed at all the sounds they'd noticed.
I said, “And to think I just stopped my bike one day and pushed the RECORD button on my phone. There was nothing special about that moment. You could take your phone anywhere and press RECORD, and you'd capture a beautiful soundtrack. Anywhere you go, all you have to do is tune in to the soundtrack around you. All you have to do is notice it."
To prove my point, I led them outside – one in a wheelchair, one with a walker, one with a cane and a crooked arm, one walking unassisted – and we sat on the benches and practiced noticing the sounds around us. We heard the birds, mostly doves, in the branches overhead, and the soft breeze filtering through the leaves. We heard the traffic going by, the fountain in the pond and the rumble of a faraway airplane. When the train went past us, blaring its horn, we smiled and savored the sound.
To prove my point, I led them outside – one in a wheelchair, one with a walker, one with a cane and a crooked arm, one walking unassisted – and we sat on the benches and practiced noticing the sounds around us. We heard the birds, mostly doves, in the branches overhead, and the soft breeze filtering through the leaves. We heard the traffic going by, the fountain in the pond and the rumble of a faraway airplane. When the train went past us, blaring its horn, we smiled and savored the sound.
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