Rendered Fat Content

Unstuck 2.8: Paying Attention

I’m grateful for my selective attention, though I’m not always as selective as I could be. If it weren’t for my natural ability to unconsciously filter my intake, I’d become overwhelmed. My desk top alone could soak up every ounce of my attention because it’s covered with alluring piles and distractions. But some ability enables me to see no distraction there, usually. Same story with my life. Surrounded by bright shinys, I’m often quite naturally unaware.

At a meeting this week, the convener was noticing how inspired she felt in the group. “We should get together more often,” she commented, “so we can get out of our routines and inspire each other.”

On my better days, I seem to find inspiration everywhere. Other times, I could walk untouched through the US Marine Band blaring Sousa marches. Seems to me that the difference doesn’t depend upon anyone but me. I’ve found inspiration in the most mundane experiences and yawned through a few history-making ones. Some days, the walk to the bus stop sets my mind racing. Others, I sleepwalk there.

Even a small break in my routine can open new eyes. If I miss my bus or my bus misses me, I might be slipping out onto the cutting edge of unstuck. When the plan fails, possibility prevails, if only briefly then. Sometimes the bus has to run me down to wake me up, but waking up proves one dandy way to come unstuck.

I sometimes imagine myself unusually perceptive, as if I could see through walls. Though I know this sense qualifies as pure delusion, it still refreshes and renews me. I’m convinced that any walk down any street could prove pivotal in my perception of my world. I believe myself just one insight away from enlightenment and still get stuck in what I experience as same-old same-old.

I wish I could bottle the magic, that all-too-rare sense that I’m standing on the pivot point of everything, inspired by being in exactly the right place at the perfect time. I’ve been there and so have you. I’m grateful when those transforming moments appear, though I’m almost endlessly unaware that I could be there now, except I’m not paying quite close enough attention.

If I could anticipate those moments, they’d hold no magic.

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

blog comments powered by Disqus

Made in RapidWeaver