presence
Borrowed Attention
On letting someone else decide what is worth seeing — and what that teaches us beyond photography.
Field Note
The other evening, we had about an hour before John's hockey practice ended, so Kristie and I took our Great Dane, Indy, for a hike at Lake Elmo Park Reserve. Along the way, we made up a simple game.
Kristie would be my eyes and tell me what I should try to photograph. She was the spotter; it was my job to capture the moment. Sometimes it was as simple as, "Look at that!" Other times it came with a little more direction.
"Look at the way the light comes through those wings."
"Did you notice those seeds?"
"Look at the texture on that tree."
It started as a fun way to observe things together. It also nudged me out of my usual habits. Left to myself, I tend to notice certain things and walk past others. For an hour, I let someone else decide what was worth seeing.
Some of my favorite photographs from that evening began with a simple invitation: "Show me what you notice."
By the end of the hike, I realized we hadn't just been choosing subjects for one another. We had been borrowing each other's attention.
Photography can sometimes feel like a solitary pursuit. This particular evening reminded me that none of us sees the whole picture. Every one of us notices some things and overlooks others.
I began to wonder if the same thing is true beyond photography. A bandmate hears a harmony I wouldn't have played. A hockey coach notices something in an athlete's stride. A coworker sees a solution others overlooked. My wife points to a butterfly I was about to walk past...
None of those moments ask me to abandon my own perspective. They simply invite me to let someone else's attention become part of my own.
Anyone who's heard two eyewitnesses describe the same event knows how differently people can remember it. It's tempting to assume someone was mistaken, but often they were simply paying attention to different details. Perhaps the same thing is true of life itself.
The photographs from that evening came home on my camera.
The attention didn't all begin with me. I wonder what we might discover if, every once in a while, we stopped trying to show others what we see...
...and instead asked a simple question: "Show me what you notice."
An Invitation
Is there someone in your life whose attention you could borrow — someone who notices the things you tend to walk past?
Shared Reflections
Every Field Note is an invitation rather than a conclusion. If this one reminded you of a memory, a place, a question, or a discovery of your own, I'd enjoy hearing where it led you.