Every time I drive down the freeway, there’s a certain spot I look toward. It’s a bend in a river, where the water makes a sharp turn and flows away from the road and into the green-shadowed forest. The water ripples with current when rain has been frequent, and sometimes the level is low and the current is sluggish, but either way, I always look. Because every so often, maybe five times in 15 years, I’ve seen a great blue heron there.
Then there’s the gravel drive that curves away from our road and down into the woods. It’s about 3 or 4 miles down the road from my house, but I pass it on my drive into town. Once I saw a fox there. Just once. It was sleek. Red. Still. We stared at each other for a long moment, and then it flashed, like a comet, down the driveway and out of sight. So every time I drive by, I look. Because once in 15 years, I saw it. And I mean, who knows? Maybe I’ll see it again.
On the edge of the bay in town is a dead tree that serves as an eagle and osprey magnet. My husband and I both check it out every time we drive by. More often than not, one of those two birds is perched there. An unlikely avian bud at the top of the skeletal tree. It never fails to delight us.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that. About how I look to these places, and so many others, that have shown their potential. About how once I know that something might happen, I stay tuned, hoping to experience it again.
It occurs to me that while I do this in my “free time”, I’m not always as consistent at doing this within my classroom. With the beginning-of-the-year inundation or at other especially hectic times, it can be easy to look for what’s missing or what’s amiss, rather than priming myself to see the wonderful things that are there. Or the potential of what might be there. And if I’m not looking, I might miss them. Right?
On Thursday, driving home after my first week at school, I turned to look at the river. It really didn’t matter if I saw a heron or not. What mattered is that I was looking. And on that day, I did see one, standing tall at the edge of the river, aglow in the low-laying sun. But even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been disappointed, and I still would have kept looking. And someday, I would have seen one again. Or perhaps something else.
Here’s to staying tuned to the possible.
Nix the comfort zone 
This.
There’s a place on I-70, just after Flagler, where, in the middle of the dry high plains, there is a natural spring. A spot of green in the midst of all that brown. On every drive from Burlington to Denver, I wait to see that so I can carry it along in my heart with me.
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Oh, I love how you phrased that–“carry it along in my heart with me.” Yes!!!
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I turn left on IL-137 south and the land opens up, first gradually, but then quickly into farmlands and horses, where I head to help feed rescue thoroughbreds. Every week the feeling is the same—I open up inside, and I simply can’t get enough of looking, looking, looking at the open farmlands.
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Thanks for sharing a spot you always look toward. I know just what you mean by “opening up inside.”
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Anticipation. And then the joy of seeing what we hoped we would. The surprise of seeing it. If not seeing it, the knowledge that it is there and maybe next time. Kind of like expecting something wonderful from our students. Knowing that it is there and we may one day see it.
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Keeping an eye open to wonder! That’s my goal!
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Oh Molly! I love this post—cultivating that sense of looking and being open to possibility—in our lives and in our classrooms. I’m keeping my eyes open and my attention tuned in…
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Thanks, Kim. I’m working on doing the same!
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Have you seen the new Lane Smith picture book, Stickler Loves the World? A great reminder to seeing what might seem ordinary in fresh, appreciative ways.
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I bought this right after reading your comment and I LOVE IT! Such a sweet, tender book. I haven’t yet read it to my class, but will be interested in seeing how they respond. Thanks so much for the recommendation!
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I haven’t read it to my class either—but bought it for a friend for her birthday. Seems like a perfect read for #writeout (a National writing project effort to get outside and write). Reseeing what has become ordinary.
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Yes! The way you notice your habits – the way you draw us into your observation & your anticipation – and then the metaphor. Yes! I’m going to remember this during the school year.
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I’m trying to keep my eye tuned toward the positive…not ignoring the negative…but expecting to see wonders.
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Molly, you are always noticing life and documenting it. Staying tuned to the positive and being positive each day is a wonderful way to start each way.
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Thanks, Carol! I’m a work in progress, but I’m trying!
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I love how you worked this piece from looking at nature to looking at what is present in your classroom, instead of what’s missing. I am practicing presence while I heal, trying not to worry about the future (and my students). I hope I can see who they are and work with what is rather than what should be. Thanks for this thoughtful post.
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Thanks, Margaret. I’m so happy you’re on the road to recovery. Here’s to being in the present and working with what is! Take care of yourself and be generous and kind to yourself as well!
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