November Noticings

Depleted? Me too. Here's what Love said to me today.

Last Monday, Phoebe’s school had a teacher training day so we christened the day “French day” in honour of her favourite country. We spent the day doing French-ish things that reminded us of the trip we took to Paris a couple of years ago. We walked by the river into town, perused a book shop and ate pastries at the new French bakery before retreating home for crêpes in front of a fire and the film Madeline. It was a gift of a day. Not only did it give Phoebe some quality time with her mum and made her feel special, it also gave me a chance to relax after a busy week entertaining the children and their friends during the half-term break.

I can hardly believe that was last week. So much has happened since then, both in my world and in our, shared, world.

It’s left me feeling drained.

This morning, on my daily walk, I let myself feel the full reality of that depletion. On days like this I wonder if I should be doing this work at all, if I have anything to offer as a spiritual companion or “soul care practitioner” as a friend calls it. I left some friends a voice-note naming how I felt and then continued walking. As I took step after step my mind wandered back to that bookshop on French day. One of the books I’d held in my hands was Homecoming: A Guided Journal to Lead You Back to Nature by Melissa Harrison. Although there seem to be so many of these guided nature journals and part of me rolls her eyes and wonders “seriously, another?” (or, more honestly, “will anyone still be interested in these when I finally publish my version?”), I can never resist having a peek. As I flicked through the pages, I was struck by both how beautiful it was and how simple its invitation. As well as an introduction to what is happening in nature each month and, I think, a space to record general observations, there is a small space allocated to each day of the year for the reader to write down their nature noticings.

Most spell checks tell me I shouldn’t be using it as a noun but I love the word “noticings”. It invites me to collect and treasure moments of attentiveness, to turn them over in my mind and wonder about them. Although a practice of noticing is familiar to me, seeing the word “noticing” written over and over again in that guided journal felt like an invitation to be more intentional this month. I’ve responded to that invitation by treating each day as a treasure hunt for November noticings. I’ve been pausing on walks, peering out of windows, and pottering in the garden. It’s been grounding and surprising but, if I’m honest, hasn’t quite delivered what I’ve been longing for. Instead, as my weariness has increased, I’ve been inwardly and then outwardly scrabbling around for something to fill the void or ease the heaviness or, I suppose, fix me and things more generally.

Today, on my walk, as I faced the depletion and felt the heaviness of that wanting, I allowed myself a break from noticing. I let myself plant just one foot in front of the other and be where I was without feeling I needed to do anything more, even to notice what was happening around me. But noticing isn’t only an act of will it’s also something that just happens and so, even though I’d set down my earnest effort to notice, I realised that, as I was walking, the sun was emerging from behind a cloud. I was walking down a tree-lined path and I could see shafts of sunlight streaking the path. I noticed that the sun wasn’t high and bright as in summer but soft and low. It felt like a message for me and for all of us who are depleted and weary of seeking, even in the ways we know are good for our souls. I didn’t hear a voice but inwardly I knew that the Love I also name as God was letting me - letting us - know that when we are low, Love comes low. When we are weary, Love meets us with softness and closeness. When we feel we can’t go on, Love streaks the path with light. We don’t have to strain to look up, Love isn’t demanding our attention. Even when we are too tired to notice, Love is noticing us.

May Love meet you where you are today,