Not two miles North of the cabin, US route 95 carries 6 lanes of traffic up and down the Seacoast of New England. As close as it is, there are times when the wind blows just right, and I can no longer hear the highway. This morning was one of those times. All I could hear was my breath, the accommodating  breeze, and two Owls hooting to the Southeast. I am so used to ignoring the noise of the highway, that it took me a while to realize that it wasn't there.

This got me thinking about how routinized expectations can get me to miss things. I was so used to ignoring the sound of the highway, that I almost didn't notice that it wasn't there. Once I did, I realized that I could hear the sound of my breathing. Noticing the quiet opened me up to what else was available to me.

Today, I will be noticing times when what I think is happening gets in the way of me noticing what is.