I roll up to a stop sign and wave ahead the two people waiting to cross. I feel slightly guilty because I could have smiled friendlier, but I didn’t.
In retrospect, I realized that their movement helped my field of view move from the road in front of me, off to the left.
For the first time, I notice a community of little portables, on a path that winds further inward. I wonder if the portables are where people live, or where people work. It has a homey community feel to it.
As a flicker in my mind, I realize how nice it is to notice what’s on the peripheral to the road in front of me. And how absurd it is, that I hadn’t noticed this detail before.
Fortunately, I’ve started driving forward slowly, while my field of view is still slanted left. And I see a small, simple park.
A field of grass. And a set of swings. And just one person — an older man, maybe in his 50's — swinging gently on the swings.
What an unexpected thing to notice. What a surprisingly joyful thing to observe. It left me smiling for a couple seconds — as I rotated my vision back to the road. It left me thinking for the rest of my drive — about the things we don’t notice when our focus is just ahead, and the little joys that can otherwise come from widening our field of view.
