Not
two miles North of the cabin, US route 95 carries 6 lanes of traffic
up and down the Seacoast of New England. As close as it is, there are
times when the wind blows just right, and I can no longer hear the
highway. This morning was one of those times. All I could hear was my
breath, the accommodating breeze, and two Owls hooting to the
Southeast. I am so used to ignoring the noise of the highway, that it
took me a while to realize that it wasn't there.
This
got me thinking about how routinized expectations can get me to miss
things. I was so used to ignoring the sound of the highway, that I
almost didn't notice that it wasn't there. Once I did, I realized
that I could hear the sound of my breathing. Noticing the quiet
opened me up to what else was available to me.
Today,
I will be noticing times when what I think is happening gets in the
way of me noticing what is.
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