If you look closely enough, there’s a quiet kind of magic in the everyday.
Not the big in your face magic like a fireworks display—but the slower, softer wonder that hides in plain sight. The kind we walk right past without seeing, because we’re too busy being on autopilot.
That’s the kind of magic we forget to look for.
Lately, I’ve been practicing the art of noticing. Noticing how the light changes in my (town)house throughout the day – when my husband is out and I can open the blinds because I’m not a vampire like him!
Noticing how Annie, my ever-anxious four-legged sidekick, has different kinds of tail wags depending on whether we’re heading to the park or on a stroll through the neighbourhood. Noticing the way my breath subtly shifts when I’m doing my daily yoga practice versus…any other time of day when I’m not being embodied and present.
This noticing isn’t always intentional. Sometimes it happens in the spaces between things—the few minutes before a meeting starts, or the quiet lull when I’m waiting for the kettle to boil or when I’m trying to get my hourly activity steps in on my Fitbit. But more and more, I’ve started making that intentional space on purpose. Noticing is a skill. And like any skill, it gets sharper with use.
It also becomes a small revolution in a world that tells us faster is better. That we always need to be go-go-go. That productivity is proof of worth. That we should always be moving forward, optimizing, achieving. But what if wonder doesn’t live on the other side of the finish line? What if it’s hiding right here, right now, in plain sight, just waiting to be invited in?
One of the ways I practice this is during my runs. (Okay, sometimes walk/runs.) I choose one thing to pay attention to. It might be the sound of my feet hitting the sidewalk, or the way the wind feels on my arms (when it’s nice enough to wear a t-shirt or tank top!), or the colourful flowers or plants in the houses I run past. Often I’ll run the same route, and I notice entirely different things each time that I never noticed before. It’s not about zoning out or pushing through. It’s about showing up—body, breath, senses engaged. I pause and take photos (and yes, I pause my smartwatch that’s tracking my run). It’s about being there for my own life.
This practice of noticing—has started to seep into the rest of my day. I notice when I’m rushing through a meal instead of tasting it (like last night when I ate my beans on toast for dinner in what felt like 5 seconds flat).. I notice when my mind is somewhere else, and gently, kindly, I call it back – thanks to my almost 10 year daily meditation practice. I notice when my shoulders are up around my ears, when I’ve been holding my breath, and I remind myself to unclench my jaw. And when I need to go outside for some fresh air.
And here’s the thing I keep learning over and over again: the mundane, the ordinary, the commonplace, is not mundane.
Not really. It’s shimmering with detail, with invitation, with beauty. But we have to be willing to slow down enough to see it. I quoted Bertrand Russell recently I’m sure (at least I feel like I have) with his quote:
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper”.
So this is your gentle nudge, your permission slip, your reminder. To stop, pause and pay attention. Grow your senses sharper.
Make space to notice. Look for the light dancing across your floor. Taste your tea or coffee or beverage of choice. Listen to the birdsong, even the skritchy sound of beautiful hummingbirds, and even if it’s competing with traffic. Let your life be as wondrous as it is. Let ordinary moments be enough.
There is magic here….we just need to pay attention and notice. It’s an art, but it’s one that will enhance our lives if we let it.
And as always—don’t forget to live with a dose of wonder.
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