It happens to everybody: You run across something you look at all the time and, then, suddenly and for no particular reason, you really see it. It had previously been part of the landscape, so common as to not warrant attention. Then it’s almost as if time slows and you see that common thing and realize, upon closer inspection, that it is not so common after all.
This is nothing new. We’ve long been reminded to “stop and smell the roses,’” which is just another way of saying “see what you’re looking at” or, of more recent vintage, “live in the moment.”
As a practical matter, we cannot do this all the time or even a great deal of the time. We would never get anywhere, never get anything done, were that the case.
A recent study says the average person has 6,200 thoughts per day. If you get eight hours of sleep a day, that means you average a conscious thought every six seconds. It’s no wonder we are too distracted to focus on all the ordinary things we encounter. Our minds are somewhere else.
I’m not talking about the things that command our attention — a sight or sound or something that is so out of the ordinary that it breaks through the thought barrier.
Instead, I speak of the mundane, all those unexamined everyday things.
I had one of those recently, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
It was mid-morning on a Thursday, a day not so hot as to drive those out and about in downtown Columbus as quickly as possible from one air-conditioned space to another.
I was on my way to a meeting, waiting for the light to change at Fifth Street and Main.
Two Cafe on Main employees were out on the sidewalk, changing the menus on the chalkboards, one of which was posted about eye-level on the side of the building, the other a smaller, fold-out chalkboard on the sidewalk itself.
Their work was interrupted by a couple walking past, and a conversation ensued. Another person also stopped to chat and you could tell, based on body language, that the conversation was friendly.
The signal changed and, as I began to make a left turn onto Main, the driver of a car stopped at the intersection waved at me. I didn’t recognize her, but I waved back. Was this someone I knew, someone who knew me? Maybe. Maybe not. It didn’t matter.
That happens all the time here. We greet both the friend and the stranger with a nod, a “hello,” a “good morning,” a “how are you?” We are communicating something important, even if we do not grasp it. We are saying, “I acknowledge you, your worth. You are friend, not foe. Go in peace. All is well.”
This scene played out in no more than 10 or 15 seconds, an ordinary event made meaningful simply because my mind was quiet enough in those few seconds to process it.
That’s when I realized — reminded, really — that I love our town.
Later that day, I ran across a post on a Facebook page devoted to Columbus from someone complaining about litter he saw in town. But what began as a legitimate complaint about litterers soon became an indictment of city officials and the community itself and, from there, a more targeted complaint about a certain group of people in the community — “you know who I’m talking about,” one commenter said.
“Another day in Little Detroit,” offered another.
A woman joined the conversation. She lives in the county (it turns out people who don’t live in the city are often its worst critics) but is horrified how “Columbus has gone down” and said she’s afraid for her daughter to shop in Columbus. (Attention Terrified Kroger Shoppers).
“Trashy a** people,” said another.
“Democrats” were blamed.
And on it went.
What our local racists lack in sophistication, they make up for in venom.
It all served to remind me that there is more than one kind of litter. One is the kind that is thrown out or cars and mars the scenery. The other is the kind that collects in the human heart, spills out and makes ugly our public discourse. Which, do you suppose, does greater harm to our community?
Certainly, Columbus has its problems, its challenges, its flaws. Acknowledging that is fair game. But when those issues are exploited to promote fear, division and pessimism, we are farther from a solution, not closer to it.
There are some for whom the city’s motto “The Friendly City” is the object of scorn and cynicism.
But I believe Columbus lives up to the billing.
I saw it at the corner of Fifth and Main on a Thursday morning.
The evidence is in plain view all around us.
If and when we really see it.
And maybe now more than ever, it’s important that we see it.
Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].
Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].
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