Attention, Not Better Just Noticed More

I’ve noticed that the older I get, the more important small things become. Not in a sentimental way, nor because life has slowed down, but because my attention has shifted. Things I once passed by without much thought now seem to ask for it.

I do notice, though, that time can slip quietly by when I am busy, or it can seem to go on and on in trying situations. That contrast is more noticeable to me now than it used to be. When I was younger, time didn’t seem to be something I was very aware of. It was just there, moving along in the background.

I think that as we get older, we do begin to notice things more — not just events, but moments. I like to go on walks with my wife, or sometimes alone, and those walks often feel as though they are over in a hurry. Even when nothing much happens, they still seem shorter than I expect.

It might be a sound in the early morning, or the way light settles into a room near the end of the day. Sometimes it’s a pause in a conversation, when nothing needs to be said, and nobody feels the need to fill the space. Those moments didn’t mean much to me years ago. Now they do.

I don’t think this shift happens by accident. Somewhere along the way, you realize that not everything worth noticing announces itself. Some things wait quietly, and if you’re moving too fast or talking too much, you miss them altogether.

I’ve also noticed that paying attention doesn’t require effort the way it used to. It’s less about focusing and more about allowing and letting your guard down a bit. Letting the moment be what it is, without needing to measure it or explain it.

There’s a kind of steadiness that comes with that sort of attention. It doesn’t solve problems or answer big questions, but it does seem to put things in their proper place. And sometimes that’s enough.

Retirement does change things, even if it isn’t full retirement. I usually say I’m partially retired, because I don’t believe — at least for myself — in fully retiring to a place where there’s little responsibility. I suppose that’s the old farmer in me. I need something to care for.

With our property, along with the well and septic inspections, retirement isn’t really an option anyway. I remember my dad telling me about farmers who sold the farm, moved to town, and just sat. Many of them, he said, passed within a year or two.

Everyone needs something to tend, or life’s meaning can begin to slip away. We’re here to experience life and to be available to where it leads. And when a person stays open — quietly open — to being guided by the spirit, the possibilities for a full life seem endless.

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