Eyes to See

Sometimes we need help noticing things. At least I do. Because I live so much of my life on autopilot, always walking the same streets, always thinking the same thoughts and worrying about the same worries, always living either in the past or future in my head, so much so that I barely notice what is right in front of me. Psychologists would probably be worried if they knew how many imaginary conversations I have had in my mind while taking my evening walks. And I don't notice much, living like this.

But I feel things have begun to change of late. I have probably explored more of Estonia (and Tallinn in particular) with S. over the past six months than over the five years combined. But it's not only about seeing and visiting physical places, it's so much more than that. I feel as if by being with someone who sees these things for the first time - and who actually notices - I have gotten a new pair of eyes myself. Eyes that see again. Mind that notices again. There is something wondrous about having the endless and monotonous circle of my routines interrupted. The world is a little newer and richer in detail than it used to be.

We visited the ruins of Pirita convent this past Saturday before the blizzard hit Tallinn. Pirita gets its name from that convent - already in the beginning of the 15th century the order of St Birgitta of Sweden made its way to Tallinn. The ruins are on the seaside some distance from the city center and I had passed them a hundred times - and that's exactly that. I had only passed them by, I had never taken time to go see them. Because, honestly, who has time to visit some 500 year old ruins? One is always so busy. One has always important thoughts in the head.

S., of course, thought he needed to climb every flight of broken and icy stairs and jump into every hole in the ruins. As if he had to. I tried to explain to him that he actually didn't have an obligation to climb and jump and explore every last corner of the place and that it would be perfectly fine just to look at some things and walk past them. But he wouldn't have any of it. We had a good laugh about it but the truth be told, there is also something serious hidden in there. There is something about the precious ability to remain curious and be present that I find really refreshing.  

Some say that when you become a parent you learn to see the old world in a new way. You will once again discover that every puddle and chestnut and yellow maple leave has a potential of being a joy. I wonder if it's really true. 

Just the other week I talked about Astrid Lindgren in my literature class and shared someone's memory about her. Someone has said that when all the other mothers went to park, they sat on a bench and watched their children play. But when Astrid Lindgren took either one of her kids to park, she climbed the trees with them. You can sense this in her books, this ability to push back the dreadful boredom of adulthood that most of us drown in, never to return.

I still remain cautious about broken staircases and thin ice and other such things but I hope that some of this freshness of life I've found will remain a long time. I hope my eyesight will remain sharp, not in a sense of "can you read these letters on a chart" but in a sense of "can you actually notice the life around you".