Last week I bought myself a box of tissues for my bedside table. Every time I reach for one, I feel a tingle of delight.

Why? Because I paid attention to what I need. It’s a small act of care, a whisper of luxury in my everyday life.

Having a box of tissues right where I need them reminds me of the importance of listening to myself, of tuning in to the quiet longings within. 

There’s so much to discover when we heed the gentle pull of our desires. When we extend that attention outward, our steps can feel like a dance in rhythm with the world’s heartbeat, leading us to moments of synchronicity.

One day at the start of the year, I was at the beach with my husband and teen son. A woman passed by, her small, sturdy dog clutching a tennis ball.

I was absorbed in how intent this little creature was, so self-contained and earnest.

The woman turned. “Oh, hi!” It was our son’s birth doula, from 14 years ago.

We greeted each other with smiles, as I handed my son a towel.

She looked over at him, this gangly boy-man. “Is this…?” “Yup, Jack. Starting high school on Tuesday.”

We shook our heads in mutual disbelief. She waved and turned away.

Pay attention. The phrase hints at a cost, and there is one. It’s the effort of staying present, of choosing awareness over drift. It’s hard to notice the dust piling up in corners and still see the beauty in a friend’s fidgeting fingers.

Sometimes, when it’s all too much, I’ll lose myself in kitten reels or Graham Norton clips, letting the world fade.

But it’s always there, waiting, when I’m ready to look again.

And when I do, each moment brims with wonder. The golden birds dancing on a friend’s necklace, a girl’s hand clasped by her dreadlocked dad, the parrot’s chatty whistle at my usual café.

One hot, prickly morning last week, I fled the sandy floors and demanding inbox for the mall’s air-conditioning and coffee. An older couple caught my eye.

He eased her wheelchair to a table, settled her in, and sank into his chair.

They pored over the menu, pointing, debating with quiet animation. When the waitress brought his beer and her white wine, they raised their glasses.

As I watched, my prickly irritation drained away. I felt like a love poem had found me. Because I’d been paying attention.