I TRY TO GET TO THE school pickup line early when I can swing it . I sit in the driver ’ s seat and luxuriate in those twenty minutes . I have nowhere else to be , nothing else to do . Sometimes I follow up on emails ; other times I send a voice message to my friend across the country , waiting in her own pickup line . Other times I forget my phone altogether . I ’ m a busy parent who tends to use any spare time to get things done , but I secretly love forgetting my phone and being a tiny bit disconnected .
When I ’ m not looking down at my phone , I look up instead . I pay attention in a new way to the drops that form and connect on the windshield , to the dad in the orange construction vest and worn boots standing outside the school doors , ready to greet his kindergartener with open arms . I ’ m more sensitive to the rhythm of the rain dancing on the roof of my minivan .
Without my phone , I ’ m less distracted and more in tune with everything around me . I roll down my windows to take in the scent of spring rain mixed with exhaust from the truck in front of me . I have eyes to see , to pay attention , to bear witness to the sacred everyday reality I ’ m living in . Instead of getting lost in the endless scroll and social media algorithms at my fingertips , I loosen my shoulders . I allow myself to feel bored .
With new anticipation , I watch the door my son ’ s blond curls will tumble out of . I see a group of four children huddled under a single umbrella , their little hands clutching the handle , holding up the protection . They walk in step , leaving no one behind .
Children are innately tuned in to noticing .
They are particularly gifted at spotting a need and sharing what they have .
How often are we so distracted by our constant social media feeds that we don ’ t see the raindrops around us ? How can we share our umbrellas when we don ’ t even know it ’ s raining ?
I get out of the van and pull my sweatshirt around my ears , trying to block a bit of the rain . I wave to my son and his teacher , and he tells his umbrella buddies goodbye . I see he has something in one of his hands .
He runs toward me with all the speed his tiny sneakers can muster , his backpack taking over his whole body . I welcome him into my outstretched arms , no longer caring about getting wet .
“ I missed you ! I have something for you !” He unfurls his fist to reveal a handful of crumpled dandelions . “ I picked these flowers for you at recess ! Aren ’ t they beautiful ?”
His recess was hours ago . The offering in his sweaty palm reveals not only his delight in creation but also his desire to share that beauty with someone he loves . The offering of paying attention .
At that moment , I ’ m glad for the rain to disguise my tears , and I vow to pay more attention to the glory springing up all around me . To disconnect from my phone more often . To be more like my son , who delights in the dandelions at recess , who has not yet learned to call the yellow flower a weed , to squeeze work into downtime , and to focus on self
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