Learning to look around

Ok, I have literally always been good at stopping and smelling the roses. Not kidding. If I see roses, I smell them. And I always thought that was a legitimate indicator of my ability to appreciate my surroundings. I can appreciate beauty, notice and bask in a magic moment, and occasionally I even relax.

As part of my therapy, my therapist suggested a book called The Courage to Feel by Andrew Seubert. I've read through most of it, and I've started to do the first exercise. It's a very simple thing. Take 60 seconds throughout the day to be still and observe. Your surroundings and your sense: what you see, hear, smell, feel, notice, the situation you're in.

What I am surprised by is the deep gratitude and contentment I feel when I do this. I expected a moment of calm,  maybe some kind of introspective 'in touch with myself' moment. It's been vastly different.

I started doing it over the weekend while Ryan was gone. The first time was having read the practice, I paused in my reading and took a minute. I noticed the quiet of my home, with the sound of my faithful dog breathing. I noticed my mug of warm coffee (I always take a warm mug of anything as a sign of comfort), my cat curled up next to my leg. I noticed my feeling of contentment, comfort, feeling safe. Just a mellow goodness.

As I've continued doing it, I've noticed more things. Doing it before bed I notice my super comfy mattress, the man heater I use for my feet, and that all is well. While grocery shopping I observe Rory's sense of pride and ability in pushing the cart in front of Mommy, the sense of wellbeing that comes with buying groceries without worrying about finances, the responsibilities I'm fulfilling in taking care of my family. I feel competent and depended on.

The big one, though, is noticing that nothing is missing. I've lived most of my life as though trying to fill a hole:  furiously fighting my way to the next thing, trying to make everything into something more and more fulfilling. And I realized today, as I sat on the couch, that there is no hole. I was reading through a research paper for school, and I stopped.

I saw the rain through my floor to ceiling windows next to my warm fireplace (and rain is my favorite weather), I had a hot mug of coffee. Ryan, though sick, was working, but it was right next to me on the couch. Even while working, we were able to be home and comfortable and touching feet. Rory was napping, and I had the space to 1)be home with her and 2) have time to accomplish things during her nap time that would let me play with her later.

It's that simple. There is no hole. There are achievements I still want to reach and places I still want to go, but these moments of awareness and mindfulness are giving the time to notice how perfect everything I have already is.