Have you ever shopped for groceries on Sunday evening around 6:00? And how was that? Crowded, crazy with people maybe getting food for a late Sunday dinner or maybe getting ready for the week ahead—or both. Did you like it? Were you harried and hurried yourself? I always think of myself as crazy when I leave this particular chore of life until that hour on a Sunday. Aisles full, lines long. I have open time during the week to be at Publix. (The middle of the day on Tuesday, for instance. Very few people are shopping then, Dale!) Frequently, my husband and I do the grocery shopping job together, which is usually my preference. But this past Sunday around 6:00, I went on my own, looking for a parking place in the almost full parking lot, and heading in to forage for our food.
As I began writing this musing today, I had an idea where I was headed, but already my planned direction is changing. The second I wrote the word “people,” I remembered some of the people I had happened to notice on Sunday evening at our local Publix around 6:00. I smiled at some of them, just in passing. Anyone I smiled at, smiled back. Some with a fleeting look of surprise before their smile; some seeming ready to smile immediately. I see some of their faces as I write. I noticed young families, some parents including the children in the process, talking with them as they shopped. Some not. Some mothers alone with their children, and some fathers and children together. Sometimes I would notice what looked like a single parent shopping with children and then a few aisles later, a person who had had been alone joined the small family. I guessed that couple had the divide and conquer approach to completing their shopping list. I saw a few young couples, one in particular, where the man put his hand gently on the woman’s waist so that she wouldn’t step back from looking at the stocked shelves in front of her into the path of my cart. I thought he was sweet and thoughtful to do that. Other pairs were discussing possibilities of a choice of something for a meal, collaborating in a one of life’s simple plans. Some older people were shopping for what looked like solitary meals.
I didn’t want to go to Publix by myself this past Sunday, which would not surprise people who know me. But my husband was busy with something else. So I went. I did not have a plan to be present in the moment when I went, but I see now that was. I was present where I was. Noticing people, smiling. Enjoying the slices of life—the small, beautiful things that happened to be there in those moments around me. People in various stages of their own lives, doing what many of us are fortunate to be able to do and perhaps take for granted, and in my case, now and then complain about: choosing food from so many possibilities, being with other people who are doing the same thing, shopping for food on a Sunday evening. What a gift in life; what a small, beautiful thing.
Young children are more present than not in their lives. They are not concerned about when or what they will eat or what time it is or what they have to do next. They are where they are. And in general, they do notice the people who are around them. My granddaughter, who herself is a small, beautiful thing, was recently at a children’s museum, where other children were going past her. She was definitely having conversations with them, loudly and clearly. My daughter said it was as though she was saying “HEY! I’M ELLIE! COME SEE ME OVER HERE!” except in her own personal language of a fourteen month old. I wish I could show you the video. But you’ve seen young children do that. Imagine it. So alive; so enthusiastic; calling out. We adults learn to do that differently or not at all. Being present in any moment, and acknowledging another human being who is present in that same moment frequently gets lost in the scurry of life. It certainly does for me.
I have known people who seem to come naturally to mindfulness and presence in their lives. And then they study it and make a practice of those things so that it grows and grows and is as much a part of life as breathing. That is not me. I seem to do more forgetting about it for periods of time and then come to remind myself again and again … although some places and times are easier than others. I find it easy to pay attention when I’m sitting at my computer, for example. Here, as I write, I am drawn to look out the window at what is. Right this minute a bee is humming around the blooms on our redbud tree. All I have to do is look to see it. I love that tree and its blooms. The squirrel that visits is gone, but the bird feeder that this particular squirrel likes is tilted and has less food in it than it did earlier this morning, so I know that he got a good breakfast. We have decided to claim that squirrel instead of fighting him. He hangs upside down to eat, and gives us a great view of this from our window. I didn’t actually see him eat this morning, but I saw him perched on the redbud tree waiting to be ready for the jump. This morning I get to sit at my computer … and isn’t the fact that the computer is working well its own small, beautiful thing! I look out the window at the world out there, full of small, beautiful things that I can see, and then tell you about them. Wow!
Long ago, a dear friend, an introvert, explained the difference between herself and me, an extravert. She said that she could pick up the pillow on her couch, and notice the stitching, feeling the textures, enjoying the colors, appreciating the design. Then she could put the pillow back on the couch, and for her the moment was complete. I also might look at the pillow in exactly the same way, and appreciate it in the way that she had, but for me that is not complete. I then want to share what I saw and felt and appreciated with someone else. So today, my friends reading this, once again that someone is you. Thank you for letting me share my awarenesses of the small, beautiful things that I find in the moments of my life, at Publix or out my window. Thank you for letting me share my precious Ellie shouting out to anyone who might hear her “HERE I AM!!”
Today I wish for you your own awareness of being fully present to the small, beautiful things that show up for you. And your own shouting out with joy, or whispering to yourself, “HERE I AM!” Right here. Right now.
As always I end this with a reminder of love from me to you…
Brenda Faiber
Dale, I love reading your Muse’s. Taking something so simple and creating a writing where I can picture every detail is inspiring and delightful. Thank you for sharing.
Ellie is precious & I know the joy that she brings to your family.
Brenda Faiber
Dale
Brenda, thank you so much for this comment. I do continue to be inspired to write about what’s around me, and your response to my sharing is so encouraging. And oh yes, Ellie and her three cousins do bring us so much joy. Wishing joy to you also…with love…