What Am I Noticing?

How one simple question calms the doom spiral in my head and unleashes my creativity.

Lately, I’ve been leaning into a deceptively simple question as a way to settle my nervous system and reconnect with the world around me: What am I noticing? I learned this tool during my nature-connected life coach training with the Earth Based Institute, and it’s become one of the most reliable ways I’ve found to shift out of anxious spirals and into presence. This morning, I was deep in one of those spirals when I started my walk with my dog Hobbes—and this question became my way out. I’m sharing what unfolded in hopes a similar approach might offer you a way back to your own center, too.

What am I noticing?

That I feel like shit, again. Did I catch the sickness that’s been plaguing the George’s, or is it a brain tumor? LOL (funny, not funny), that’s how my brain is rolling this morning. One of at least 500 things both real and imagined swirling in the cyclone barreling its way through my mind.

I wind my way through a boulder field to a sunny, grassy spot and pull out my camp chair. I’d like to write, but have no idea how to corral my thoughts enough to put anything to paper.

What am I noticing?

I am noticing how Hobbes the wonder-lab raises his face and nose into the sun, eyes closed, sensing the wind. Be like Hobbes, I think. I doubt he worries if he has a brain tumor, or if his dad’s sickness is just a cold, or something much worse.

So I open my senses, my antennae, as I call them. I close my eyes and notice the breath moving in and out of my body. I scan for tension (always in my neck), and attempt to release it. I picture my whole body as an orb covered in sensory tentacles that stretch out from me into the universe.

What am I noticing?

Suddenly I notice the meadowlark’s liquid warble to the east, in the sun, and the sound becomes louder than my thoughts.

I hear Hobbes running up the hill back to me, breathing heavy, checking in. No doubt wondering why I’m so boring just sitting here, writing.

I feel the cool breeze on my skin contrasting with the warm sunlight, giving me goosebumps.

I can hear the Yellowstone River far below and out of sight, gaining power as the mountain snow melts.

I notice an unfamiliar vocal thud, or drop, like someone is making mouth sounds on a coke bottle. I imagine it’s a bird of some sort, though I can’t place it. I can also hear the whinny of a snipe somewhere in the distance.

The shockingly green lichen on the granite boulders rimming my sit spot draws my attention, a joyful contrast to the dull sage color of the hills beyond.

What am I noticing?

The anxiety that was expanding in my throat, threatening to strangle me, has loosened it’s grip. Turning my attention to it however gives the anxiety power again, so I close my eyes and listen to the meadowlark instead.

Sensing my growing calm, Hobbes lays in the dirt, his warm body pressed against my leg.

We sit there together for some time, listening, sensing. Present. Calm.

For me, this question—what am I noticing?—opens a door. A door out of overwhelm and into grounded awareness. It helps me remember that I am part of the world, not just stuck in my head, and helps me tease apart and examine what’s going on inside of me, without judgement. It reconnects me to myself and the more-than-human-world around me. And for those mornings when I show up to my journal and can’t figure out how extract thoughts from the maelstrom of my brain, this question gets me through the block and into creativity. I simply write down whatever I am actually noticing, both emotionally and in nature right there with me. I offer it to you as an invitation: try asking it the next time your thoughts are swirling and see what happens. If you try it, I’d love to know how it goes!

-Jenny