It stands to reason that if you never open your eyes, you'll miss most of the world as it passes you by.
There are very few of us who actually stop dead in our tracks to squeeze our eyes shut on purpose, so the observation may sound trite — but there are different types of not seeing that extend beyond simply attempting to shut our immediate surroundings out. It's been over two weeks since my last post... but it's not because I sat down and gave up. My gaze and my attention got locked onto a Steem routine, where posting ended up at the bottom of the heap, out of sight. Each time I hit one of these slow downs, it takes stopping and looking at the web of all the interconnected parts to remember that while it may not be as important as my other responsibilities, posting is still a crucial part of being fully immersed in this ecosystem. Every now and again, I need to remind myself to do this stop and look. If I can't find reasons to post — to be successful, to be motivated, to be challenged, to find enjoyment — then I need to look harder.
Taking my camera out to the woods is good practice for reminding myself how to open my damn eyes.
I walk the same trails around my home as often as I can; different routes through the same trees on the edge of the same water shaded by the same mountains.
There's complacency in familiarity and the passage of time. Anything you repeat often enough becomes comfortable. We assume a level of knowledge that is beyond our observation. It sits behind our eyes, deep in our subconscious, and allows for autopilot — we can look without seeing, navigate by knowing. It's an altogether useful skill, except for the pesky reality that it often holds us back even though in some ways we're optimizing performance. I can go along, doing all the things I need to more excellently the more I do them... but I might miss out on the changes, the details, the new opportunities, and in the case of blogging, the old ones.
The same dead tree, the same gnarled bark, the same textures and bumps and protrusions. Or not.
I went most of my life in Vancouver not realizing there were hummingbirds here. I just never bothered to look.
I never actually thought about it. I hiked and gardened for years, just assuming what I had seen and what I knew was the bounds of what existed, even though I feel I am more open to the new than most. My eyes slid through the dappled shadows of leaves more easily each time I gained a better knowledge and appreciation of what was there (or so I thought.) It took being buzzed by a needle sharp beak for coming too close to a set of fingernail sized eggs as a hilariously-cute-but-terrifying reminder that just because I'm looking around me, doesn't mean I'm seeing.
So now, any time I feel like I'm losing the plot or I'm getting too caught up in routine, I go looking for hummingbirds.
If you haven't done it today already... look harder.
Keep on being as amazing as you are. But if you're stuck, or bored, or lacking motivation — even if you're none of those things and you're doing more fabulously than ever before — look harder.
Whatever you're doing, wherever you are, there's more to see. In the worst places, there's opportunity to be spotted. In the best, there are pitfalls that can be sussed out. At the height of your game, there are new methods and habits and chances just waiting beyond the edge of your vision. In the depths of ennui there are intriguing possibilities, loose threads to be pulled, and roads less traveled by we've been walking by without knowing forever.
Where I'm going with all this is that there's always more to see, to do, and to experience. It's always there, waiting for you.
If you haven't posted for a while, look harder. If you need a bit of inspiration, look harder. If you're on a meteoric rise right now, look harder. If you're feeling absolutely terrible, look harder. Whether you like what you see or dread what you've discovered, the learning and growing, the new perspectives, and the fresh discoveries are worth it. It's not blockchain, or even blogging specific — it's practice for living a more mindful life... and who knows what you might actually see, or produce? It might be even more delightful as an instant in time when a frenetic inch tall cyclone fluff of feathers comes to rest. Go take a look, already~
These photos and words are my own work, inspired by travels all over this pretty blue marble of ours. I hope you like them. 🌶️
