Following Instructions

It is interesting how certain ideas loop back to us. How a moment brings to mind something we have heard or read.

Recently, I found myself reminded of one of my favorite poem excerpts from Mary Oliver’s “Sometimes”

Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.

I was first introduced to these lines during a Wild Wonder conference and they have repeatedly struck a chord ever since. As a Naturalist, Nature Journaler, and Human – they always seem to find me when I need them most.

Pay attention…

One thing that still manages to surprise me is how much of the world around us we can so easily miss. Like many others for years, my time outside was spent with headphones in, music blasting, as I tried to cover as much ground in as little time as possible. I would stop on occasion to notice something, but really I was mostly lost inside my own head unaware of everything except fellow joggers or bikers crossing my path.

Then the world shifted in so many ways…

I slowed down.

And I paid more attention.

And as I did, I began to see more of the world around me. I began to hear more and listen, rather than working to drown out the noise. Instead of a green blur, the leaves of the trees and plants came into focus. The bird songs began to move from a chorus to individual solos that I could recognize – for example, I finally heard the “chicka-dee-dee-dee” and understood for the first time.

I looked closer and noticed the changes as the seasons moved from one to the next. Raindrops and mushrooms and rabbits peeking out from the underbrush. I will never know how much of this I missed – and maybe that’s not the point.

Be astonished…

As I paid closer attention to the world around me, I discovered that it was filled with awe. Not just for the grand mountains or the shimmer of the Northern Lights across the sky.

But for the bumblebee as it moves from one flower to the next – it’s rear legs heavy with golden pollen.

For the way the light passes through the maple leaves in spring, summer, and autumn or the wings of a dragonfly as it rests in the afternoon Sun.

To the silent stare and flight of owls as they glide through the forest, their eyes wide and open.

I found amazement in the first spring leaves, green and soft, giving way to flowers of white and pink and red, and the berries that followed after. The forests were suddenly full of bristly mosses, lichens, and liverworts creating microforests along the trunks of the ancient Douglas Firs and Western Red Cedars.

And in my astonishment, I found I was not alone. Both in connecting with other Naturalists and volunteers, along with the Nature Journal community, I found others who shared my astonishment and wonder with the world around us.

Tell about it…

As with a forest, a wetland, or any other ecosystem, the right community allows us to grow. I have been able to begin to learn the names and connections between the plants and animals and rocks that build the foundation under my feet. To learn from others and to share what I am learning.

For me, it meant finding the courage to begin sharing my nature journal pages with others and talk with members of the community. To finding spaces to learn from others and share what I was learning. Learning is an imperfect, but joyful journey – a grand adventure that holds unexpected surprises.