I love this, Jonathan. I’ve been longing for more of this lately. I feel like so many years ago. I had this. I relied on it, believed in it, and it never failed to show up. And then somehow, (maybe lookin’ at you, social media) I lost it. Now that I’m inviting it back into my life I can see that it takes conscious effort. It’s not even really effort, more remembering to hold space for it. I wonder if like sleep, we can’t really chase it and can only allow it to find us.
I tuck my phone away as I wait for my friend. These content-hungry infants—I let it wail in the depths of my bag.
The world doesn’t wait for us to notice it, but it does keep offering itself, over & over.
A man steps out of a café, coffee cup in hand. He stands still for a second—just long enough for the steam to catch the morning light, curling like a whispered thought. He lifts the cup, closes his eyes as he sips. For a moment, I consider that this could be the best coffee of his life. Or the worst. Either way, he commits to the moment like a man with nothing left to lose.
Across the street, a child crouches, tracing something in a crack in the pavement. Their mother tugs at their sleeve, but the child lingers, fingers pressed to the ground like they’re receiving secret instructions from the underworld. A beetle, maybe. Or a map. Or a portal. The mother sighs, already moving forward. The child hesitates—one last second—before stepping through time & space (or maybe just onto the curb).
A pigeon lands nearby, dragging something metallic in its beak. A paperclip. No, a key. Definitely a key. I feel, with complete certainty, that it unlocks something important. A forgotten storage locker filled with love letters? A drawer where someone’s last good idea has been trapped? The pigeon knows, but it isn’t telling. It gives me a single, knowing look before waddling away, as if to say, You had your chance.
A breeze moves through the trees. A single leaf detaches—not falling, but floating, as if it has its own agenda. It twirls midair, dramatic, before landing gently in the gutter. A perfect dismount. I applaud internally. Somewhere, a magpie files this moment away for later analysis.
What do I feel?
Not epiphany. Not revelation. Just here. Just the quiet wonder of a world that keeps happening, whether we pay attention or not. But when we do—when we really do—we start to suspect that the world might be playing with us. How can we resist such an invitation?
"Yes, and", "Just. Stop. Doing. And. Be" - so profound and so powerful, so magical! I get caught up in the mundane everyday tasks and life just continues to happen and I just go along with it like a log floating in a river, and what you said about noticing that stuff in the coffee shop made me realize how I simply ignore or maybe even avoid the magic in life because sometimes seeing and sensing the magic can be a painful reminder to participate and share my magic and I would rather just sleep on it like I have been doing for the past couple of decades but I sensed the magic in your challenge to "Just. Stop. Doing. And. Be" and I feel like a kid in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory 🤗🍫
There was something peaceful about reading this on a Sunday while chilling poolside. It felt like a slow soulful Sunday. Thank you for writing 🙏🏽
So glad it brought some peace, Anney.
Thank you for starting my day with magic before my eyes.
Ah, glad I could play a tiny part in some morning magic, Deb.
I love this, Jonathan. I’ve been longing for more of this lately. I feel like so many years ago. I had this. I relied on it, believed in it, and it never failed to show up. And then somehow, (maybe lookin’ at you, social media) I lost it. Now that I’m inviting it back into my life I can see that it takes conscious effort. It’s not even really effort, more remembering to hold space for it. I wonder if like sleep, we can’t really chase it and can only allow it to find us.
You and me both, Janet. And, yes to remembering over effort.
I especially appreciated the exercise you offered up… Such a simple, powerful way to sharpen those senses even more. 🙏
Sometimes, its the simplest questions that unlock the purest insights, Megan.
I tuck my phone away as I wait for my friend. These content-hungry infants—I let it wail in the depths of my bag.
The world doesn’t wait for us to notice it, but it does keep offering itself, over & over.
A man steps out of a café, coffee cup in hand. He stands still for a second—just long enough for the steam to catch the morning light, curling like a whispered thought. He lifts the cup, closes his eyes as he sips. For a moment, I consider that this could be the best coffee of his life. Or the worst. Either way, he commits to the moment like a man with nothing left to lose.
Across the street, a child crouches, tracing something in a crack in the pavement. Their mother tugs at their sleeve, but the child lingers, fingers pressed to the ground like they’re receiving secret instructions from the underworld. A beetle, maybe. Or a map. Or a portal. The mother sighs, already moving forward. The child hesitates—one last second—before stepping through time & space (or maybe just onto the curb).
A pigeon lands nearby, dragging something metallic in its beak. A paperclip. No, a key. Definitely a key. I feel, with complete certainty, that it unlocks something important. A forgotten storage locker filled with love letters? A drawer where someone’s last good idea has been trapped? The pigeon knows, but it isn’t telling. It gives me a single, knowing look before waddling away, as if to say, You had your chance.
A breeze moves through the trees. A single leaf detaches—not falling, but floating, as if it has its own agenda. It twirls midair, dramatic, before landing gently in the gutter. A perfect dismount. I applaud internally. Somewhere, a magpie files this moment away for later analysis.
What do I feel?
Not epiphany. Not revelation. Just here. Just the quiet wonder of a world that keeps happening, whether we pay attention or not. But when we do—when we really do—we start to suspect that the world might be playing with us. How can we resist such an invitation?
Love this witnessing, Kim. And, along the way, becoming a part of a magical, momentary scene. And, "content-hungry infants" - ooph, that landed.
"Yes, and", "Just. Stop. Doing. And. Be" - so profound and so powerful, so magical! I get caught up in the mundane everyday tasks and life just continues to happen and I just go along with it like a log floating in a river, and what you said about noticing that stuff in the coffee shop made me realize how I simply ignore or maybe even avoid the magic in life because sometimes seeing and sensing the magic can be a painful reminder to participate and share my magic and I would rather just sleep on it like I have been doing for the past couple of decades but I sensed the magic in your challenge to "Just. Stop. Doing. And. Be" and I feel like a kid in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory 🤗🍫