My most peaceful days are the ones where I notice small things.
The moisture clinging to a leaf I’m trying to propagate on the windowsill. The almost imperceptible movement of cool air over my knuckles as they sit atop the keyboard, pondering this line.
The symmetrical designs formed by the wet grounds at the bottom of my coffee cup when I take a sip. The glide of water rushing through pipes in the wall.
The quiet that sits in between the sounds of the city. The glint of sunlight reflecting off an abandoned strand of spiderweb.
Even with these six small moments, I feel more at peace. More connected to the world around me. In noticing these small, but real, things I’m unable to simultaneously worry about large, imagined, things.
I don’t think about my work schedule that day. I don’t think about how the trash needs to be taken out. I don’t think about the news. I don’t think about anything but the properties of the fragile little strand of spiderweb. Why it glimmers so majestically? What small creature living in my window built it?
Not to say that it’s not ok to think about those things. The trash does need to get taken out. I need to work.
But there’s something anchoring about noticing the small things. And I strive to do it more.