A Man Becomes His Attentions

It's a contention of Heat Moon's -- believing as he does any traveler who misses the journey misses about all he's going to get -- that a man becomes his attentions. His observations and curiosity, they make and remake him.

- William Least Heat-Moon, from Blue Highways, p. 17.

This quote was tickling my brain this morning as I walked to work. I've been taking the same route for a few months now and in that time, I've slowly stopped noticing things without knowing it. The same buildings and trees (and people, on occasion) pass before my eyes, but I don't necessarily see them; I skim them. Today, I decided that had to stop. Instead of focusing on where I had to be and what I had to do when I got there, I focused on what was going on around me. Here is a short list of what I observed:

• The clock on the west wall of the tower above Starbucks is stuck at 7:48.
• The circumference of the average pant leg worn by the average college kid is two inches less than the circumference of the average college kid's leg. I believe this is known as performance enhancing fashion. The blood, unable to reach anything below the midriff, has nowhere to go but up to the brain, thereby boosting mental acuity.
• Both skateboarders I saw this morning were women. I wonder when that won't seem unusual to me.
• With two seconds remaining on the signal counter, a young man, wearing black baggy pants, an oversized white jacket, and a white baseball cap, entered the crosswalk without hesitation. He didn't look once at the three lanes of traffic waiting for him to cross. Maybe if he had worn tighter pants he would have had the wits to wait until the traffic had cleared before crossing against the light like the other kids.
• The marquee at Camera 12 claims they're showing THE HEARTBREA KID. I wonder how many people have gone up to the box office to tell them it's misspelled. I wonder how many have gone up and asked, "What is a heartbrea?"
• The hedge that lines Washington Square Hall is still in bloom with orange and red flowers.
• The biggest yawn I've seen in recent memory belongs to a tall, well-built guy, in his early twenties, with short blond hair and green eyes, wearing khakis and a bright yellow fleece jacket. He opened his mouth so wide, an overweight squirrel could have scurried inside without scraping its backside against his teeth. Of course, it wouldn't have had a chance to scurry because the guy's intake of breath was so strong and sudden, the squirrel would have been sucked in instantly.

Admittedly, none of these are earth-shattering or life-altering observations, but they still have value. They are the observational equivalents of practicing scales on the piano.

If I were serious about it, I would focus on one sense per day at first. Monday would be sight, Tuesday would be sound, Wednesday would be taste, and so on. And after I had mastered each individually, I would begin to practice them in combination, until I became so skilled that not only could I describe the sight of a man yawning, but I could also describe the sucking sound he made and the way the squirrel tasted, without missing a beat.

If a man truly becomes his attentions, he might as well have a little fun in the process.