The Art of Noticing
Seeing the beauty and the pain
We walked into a new church a few weekends ago with equal parts hopeful anticipation and eye-rolling dread.
When you’ve been pruning and sifting through and wrestling out your faith with tears and bruises for years, taking a step (in any direction) is difficult and complex.
To our shock, we concluded afterward that we liked the church. But we didn’t like it because of the music or the sermon or the interior decorating. We’ve realized over the past seven years of wrestling that none of that really matters (and in some cases, it can be deceiving). We meant that we liked the people.
I kid you not, as we walked in and found seats, about 12 different people noticed we were new and came up to introduce themselves and warmly welcome us.
They noticed us. In a real, genuine way—not holding colorful “welcome” signs then not even listening for our response when they asked for our names. Like, really, truly noticed us. And that awareness prompted them to act. And to make us feel more welcomed than we have in any place in a while.
That’s the power of noticing.
I don’t know if it’s my personality type or my creative brain or my sensitivity, but on a regular basis, I notice things. A lot of things.
I notice every time the light changes in a room.
I notice murals and exposed brick walls and typography on signs as I drive or walk around town.
I notice other moms at the park whose kids look about the same age as mine.
I notice when it seems someone feels left out of a conversation.
I notice when, in front of my eyes, is a reality I’d only dreamed up in my head.
The art of noticing is both a deeply creative and deeply spiritual practice for me.
In my worldview, the two are so entangled—creativity and spirituality—that I often get them confused. (The only reason we even notice and create is because we were made to do so by a Creator.)
There’s no question that there’s a fight for our attention. In a world filled with distraction, noticing is a lost art. But I think it’s a vital practice for regaining our humanness.
Noticing causes intense gratitude to well up in my soul. It gives me confidence and hope for the future. It grounds me to the present moment. It connects me to the people around me and the place I’m in. It spurs me to love and care for people.
Noticing makes me more human—more alive.
The art of noticing is similar to the art of remembering.
Whenever I want to be hopeless, a stranger is a little too kind to me.
My cereal tastes a little too delicious.
The sunset is a little too beautiful.
These tiny, too-good-to-be-true moments frustratingly shake up my stubborn desire to remain hopeless.
It’s fun and life-giving to notice beautiful things—light streaming in through curtains, an across-the-room smile from someone you love, little feet dancing in the kitchen, a fresh coat of snow.
But sometimes when I’m really paying attention to the world around me, the things I notice aren’t pretty.
Sometimes the world is too cruel, too harsh, too real for me to handle. Sometimes, instead of noticing, I wish I would’ve closed my eyes and turned the other way.
There’s a beauty to noticing, but there's also a cost.
Noticing ugly things is costly because most of the time, it forces me to choose: will I act, or turn a blind eye? Will I choose courage, or live in fear? Will I love people up close, or sit safely in the distance?
I love this artist’s experiment, prompting strangers to notice each other.
Noticing other people is complicated. It’s scary. It forces us outside of our little worlds and perspectives and usually makes us wildly uncomfortable.
But if we really noticed each other—if we got tangled up in other people’s stories (especially stories that are vastly different from our own)—I think we’d grow in empathy and understanding, and in turn, unity and love.
Noticing both the good and the bad almost always inspires action.
If you’ve been feeling unmotivated, disconnected, or lacking purpose, try to be intentional about noticing this week.
You might notice someone you’ve never noticed before.
You might feel compelled by a need and creatively help solve it.
You might notice an area of personal weakness and begin to work through it.
You might notice your finiteness and learn to let go.
You might be reawakened to the beauty of your everyday and be drawn to worship and thankfulness.
This week, notice the beauty and the pain—and let your experience inspire you to create meaning and healing out of both.
Don’t just let moments slip by without giving them your full attention.
Noticing is the beginning of living with purpose.
Things I’ve noticed lately:
Book Progress
I saw a Substack post this week about the 10 stages of book writing.
#8 is “Oh my god I hope I don’t die before I’m done,” and I resonated with that more than any human could ever resonate with anything. But maybe my Barbie-like “irrepressible thoughts of death” just signal that I’m on the right track.
I have about three weeks left in January, and I currently have approximately 5.5 out of 8 chapters written—a little behind where I wanted to be. Think I can finish the entire first draft before the the end of the month? I’m feeling iffy at this point. But still trying for it! Then I can share the topic of the book with you!
*If you’re a new subscriber, welcome! I’m currently writing my first book which I plan to self-publish later this year. So each week, I’m sharing a little behind-the-scenes of my process and even occasionally asking for feedback! I love bringing you into this wild process. Thanks for being here and supporting my work!
Five Faves
“All The Light We Cannot See,” a Netflix limited series from the director of Stranger Things. It’s set in WWII, but it’s not about WWII—it’s about hope. We’ve only watched a couple episodes, but it’s good so far.
“The Creative Act: A Way of Being” I’ve been loving this book about creativity. The author and I come from different spiritual frameworks, but it’s incredible how much we have in common when it comes to the connection between faith and creativity. I love reading books by artists because I feel like they understand my brain, haha. Not to mention the book itself is just gorgeous.
This cozy minestrone soup—a weekly staple for us lately. It’s SO good. Chopped fresh parseley and a side of good bread are the icing on the cake.
This Substack newsletter. I’ve followed Kristen LaValley on Instagram for a while now, and I love how honestly she shares about faith—she’s got a gritty story and she’s so encouraging. Her words have been incredibly healing for me, so I thought I’d pass them along to you.
Recycling cute containers. I recently made a little coffee station out of jars from the farmer’s market this summer. (Please ignore the 5,000 competing textures and colors in my kitchen. If we weren’t just renting this place, I’d do something about it. It really ruins the vibe.😅)
Alright, I think that’s it for this week. Here’s to noticing and connecting and loving and understanding and making the world more beautiful,
Sarah
So glad to be here and connect through Exhale!