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. 

When we pay attention to the world around us, then our actions can feel like a dance in rhythm with the world’s drumbeat. We experience moments of synchronicity, or stumble upon encounters laden with meaning.

Pay attention. 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 seems to imply a cost of some kind. And there is.

The price involved in paying attention is the cost of our presence. Our conscious awareness. This is hard. It gets tiring to be present at each moment.

And yes, when it all gets a bit much, you’ll find me scrolling through reels of kittens and Graham Norton Show clips or binge-watching a series.

Yet I know that the world will be here for me when I’m ready to pay attention once more. And when I’m ready, each moment has the potential to be exquisitely weighted with wonder.

The way a friend fidgets with her necklace, golden dangling birds dancing between her fingers; the sight of a small, chubby girl, her hand clasped firmly by her tall, dreadlocked dad; the chatty whistle of the parrot in a cage at the café where I meet with friends.

One hot prickly morning last week, my eyes kept snagging on all the housework that needed doing, the feathery clumps of dog hair gathering in corners, the sandy bathroom floor, a demanding inbox.

I headed out to the mall in search of air-conditioning and coffee. At the coffee shop, 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.