“A simple act of paying attention can take you a long way.” — Keanu Reeves
The other day, I was running my regular weekend errands and thought I’d hit up the farmers’ market since I was headed for the Magic Hat Thrift Store anyway, so why not? As I pulled into the parking area, there was a spot. I headed for it and risked losing my Masshole card by putting on my “blinkah” to indicate where I was going. Out of the other side of the lot came another car, a big SUV, some kind of “Rover,” and pulled right in front of me, not 5 feet away, into the space. I was gobsmacked. I also drive an SUV, had my sunroof open and my ‘80s tunes blaring, and may or may not have been singing along to Madonna. I’m a loud redhead in a big car; I can see how it’s easy to miss me right there, 5 feet away, with a flashing blinkah.
Now, there was another spot, so I just took that one and didn’t say anything because I don’t know this person; I’m not going to assume they’re a jerk or mean. Maybe they didn’t see me. It’s a gorgeous day; I’m healthy enough to be out and about enjoying it. I won’t scream about a parking space; I just can’t be that person.
It says something, though, doesn’t it, that sometimes we are in our own little bubbles of oblivion, to the point that we can miss a whole car thumping with music and an off-key driver who shouldn’t be allowed to sing publicly.
How does that work, exactly? Maybe I’m too much of a gawker because my head is always on a constant swivel. I watch people like I’m training for the Olympics in people-watching (if only that were an event). Still, I miss a few things, too, so I guess no one can monitor it all, but some of you out there? Come out of the fog; there’s a world around you.
I find this especially interesting in the grocery store. Unless it’s literally your first time in a store, there’s no need to stop your cart in the middle of the aisle and gaze at the assortment of pancake mixes for 10 minutes. The produce section is not a yoga loft where you can Zen out surrounded by organic pluots. I’ve seen people spend less time looking at the “Mona Lisa” in the Louvre than many do in the yogurt section of Whole Foods. Honestly, I’m not saying it’s rude, though it can sometimes be inconvenient. I’m just puzzled at how many people seem checked out regularly, as if their mind goes to the Bahamas now and then.
Are we all stressed with too much on our “to-do” lists? Are we trying to mentally multi-task a million little daily details and just shutting down? Our cell phones and screens are partially to blame, at least in my case. While I don’t use my phone while driving, I’ve had my share of oblivious moments, too. I have been wholly absorbed in TikTok cooking videos while waiting at the gas station. I missed my stop on the train once because I was finishing the last chapter of a Spenser novel on my Kindle, so I’m just as guilty as anyone else, but is there a bigger problem here than just zoning out for a few minutes?
What are we missing if we don’t notice our surroundings? If we were more engaged and less unaware, would we see that friend of ours at the coffee shop who’s sitting alone and looking a little down? The flyer on the telephone pole about a missing dog is important, but how many of us ever look at them? Are we so familiar with our daily environment that we don’t notice that the neighbor we wave to here and there hasn’t been in their yard for a while?
Maybe it’s because people don’t want to appear “nosy,” but there’s a way to be present without getting all up in someone’s business. Heads up, there’s a beautiful world out there. Besides, I’d rather be considered nosy (and I am, by some) than look as if I’m ignoring what’s happening around me. Besides, if I miss something interesting, my severe FOMO (fear of missing out) will kick in, making me cranky. If you see me out and about, and I don’t say hi or wave, hit me with your shoe or something; I hate missing out on anything.
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years, and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.
