Powers of Observation
It is said in physics that it is the observer who defines what is observed. That may seem kinda obvious, but it is important when you are dealing with scientists who are so empirical when valuing their own observations. The big problem in science is that our little white lab-coated friends set up their experiments to test a hypothesis, and very often have a range of results — in not downright specifics — already locked in as probabilities. Which is fine in certain circumstances, but can be very limiting in the overall warp-’n-weft of real-life events.
Looking in a less deliberate and totally unscientific way, my observation of this grand experiment we fondly refer to as life is based somewhat on what I look for, but also for what suddenly appears in my purview, unsolicited. How else might we get truly fresh input, but from untapped sources at unexpected times? So I give considerable attention to what shows up unbidden, and that opens the door to a great deal I might never have thought to think about, along with a bunch of stuff that has very little merit clogging up my synapses. Or at least, so it would seem.
For instance, the other day I took my damp clothes out of the washing machine and put them in the dryer. At the bottom of the washer were three of my business cards, which must have been in a shirt pocket. (I often carry business cards in my shirt pockets because they are handy for taking notes.) What was curious to me was that they had been liberated from the pocket, and washed. Usually anything made of paper remains in the pocket where it gets mashed into a fibrous blob.
The cards weren’t useful anymore, and no, none had any notes written on them. Was there a major life metaphor in these cards having gotten out of the pocket — heads up, Sigmund! — or that they didn’t get smushed, but sat there at the bottom of the basin, waiting to be discovered? Hah! Not that I know of, but then, I could well be overlooking something, and very obvious. But nothing jumped out at me, metaphor-wise, and I make it a habit of not searching unduly for meaning, since there’s plenty enough already out there.
I come to this issue of observation thoroughly chastened and humble. There is much that I don’t see that is so obvious to others that it isn’t even mentioned. I can see four photographs of a model in a magazine, and as she is dressed differently or has her hair done in a new way, I don’t recognize her as being the same person. I also often fail to notice facial similarities in people from the same family, even my own relatives.
One can be trained to see differently. As are policemen, for example, who need to be alert to miscreants carrying weapons. And to hear differently, as mechanics are trained to diagnose equipment malfunctions. Chefs have a developed sense of smell, if they’re any good. Maybe it has to do with whether someone is intrinsically auditory, visual or kinesthetic, which is how the neuro-linguistic types break it down.
I marvel at what Linda notices without even looking, it sometimes seems. Even when she speaks of the similarity in people’s features, or something that seems patently recognizable, it is often a challenge for me to see what it is she is pointing out. I suppose I shouldn’t be concerned that I miss so much, since I am not a cop, mechanic, or culinary ace. The fact is, I have enough on my plate, and it seems quite nutritious.
And that’s SetonnoteS...I’m Tony Seton.