What more can we find?

When standing in a museum, we can gaze at a painting. I have done this my whole life, thanks to my Mom’s work as a museum docent and art historian.

Mom is a master of pulling both her children and visitors into art via storytelling. She continues to use the classic three questions posed by museum docents to visitors called Visual Thinking Strategies (VTS):

• What do you see?

• What makes you say that?

• What more can we find?

These questions are worthy of additional gaze.

When we peer down one of the streets leading to our home, we might ask ourselves what we see… palm trees, mototaxis, refresco fruit drinks, and people selling food on the street.

What makes me say that?

People, color, noise, chaos, and life.

Why?

Because of how it makes me feel.

What more could I find?

Today, I found a small printed newspaper talking about alien invasions available at the regular newsstand.

The incredible miracle of human existence is that there is always more we can find.

Filters

As I slice through the pool, my thoughts pass through a mental sieve. With each movement of my arms and shoulders, the mesh of the sieve grows finer, catching the essential nutrient-rich fruit to make my juice.

Compare this to the stagnant, solitary contemplation of sitting at a desk, attempting to decide without the benefit of cleansing, clarifying motion.

Why make deciding and thinking harder by sitting and being alone?

When movements and others offer the world both historical and new?

We are social creatures made more intelligent by engaging with others.

So, I ask again…consider the shortcomings of your unfiltered, solo musings.

Then consider what fellow swimmers might know.

Consider moving.

Consider asking.

Soup and Strawberries

In her book Braiding Sweetgrass, writer Robin Wall Kimmerer writes about wild strawberries… “It was a gift that could never be bought.”

I am more aware than ever that if you want to gift something, make it yourself.

What can’t be bought?

Made-ness. Intention-ness. Made with your own energy, attention, intention, and time.

What happens when I make soup for the people I love? When I ask my Mom for the recipe? When I go looking for the right ingredients over many days? When I adapt it to what I can find at an Iquiteñan market? When I spend a whole afternoon getting it right because I wanted to give a gift instead of making a purchase.

The gift was far more than the soup.

“Because they had given us a gift, an ongoing relationship opened between us” writes Kimmerer.

I am starting a business to sustain me. What of that in the context of gift-giving? What kind of gifts of time, energy, and attention can one give? How might one ultimately sustain oneself outside a transaction?

I’d love to hear your thoughts on what makes a gift. Feel free to reply or message me to share your story or experience.