The Art of Noticing: Reflections on Life, Loneliness, and the Subtle Clues We Miss

In a world where we are bombarded with distractions—social media, endless notifications, and the pressure to live fast and loud—it’s easy to miss the small, subtle moments that define who we are and how we experience life. But what if the secret to truly understanding ourselves, and the world around us, lies not in the big moments, but in the little, seemingly insignificant ones? The art of noticing—the ability to pay attention to the "nothings"—is something I’ve been reflecting on recently, and it has helped me learn more about myself.

It was a Thursday evening, and I was attending a Radiant Young Adults event at my church. Normally, I’d go to the service, listen to the message, and leave. But something inside me told me to stay. And so I did. The sermon that night was about waiting and not rushing into things. Delaying gratification is a theme that resonates with me—at least intellectually. It’s not something I struggle with too hard, but I appreciate the wisdom in the message. The idea that “delaying the time horizon on things” can lead to the best outcomes in life is powerful. It speaks to the value of patience, and the importance of resisting the urge to rush through life.

As I sat there reflecting, I realized that I’ve spent much of my life caring about what others think of me. But as the sermon unfolded, I realized that the only opinion that truly matters is my own.

After the service, I stayed for some pizza and conversation—something I don’t usually do. I found myself talking to Mandi, a girl I’ve exchanged a few words with at other events, but never at length. As we chatted, I began to notice all her mannerisms. Not just her words, but all the subtle things she was doing—how she kept glancing to her left, the nervous way she picked her words. It was clear she was trying to feign calmness and not alert her crush to her feelings. I’ve always had a knack for reading people, and I quickly deduced who her crush was. I pointed it out to her, and she was taken aback. She seemed surprised that I noticed. Her friend even came over and asked "Did you tell him who it was?". As I was standing there in the lobby a quote I once read popped into my mind.

“What we so desperately try to hide from others is often immediately apparent to the first stranger we meet.” - The School of Life.

This quote stuck with me because it feels so true. Our insecurities, desires, and fears are often written on our faces, in our gestures, and in the way we move through the world. It’s not just that we hide things—we’re often not even aware of the things we’re hiding. I realize how much I tend to notice others. The nervousness in the room during a sermon recap, for example. I remember journaling about how anxious everyone was around me, yet I couldn’t help but feel that same nervous energy in myself. There was almost this dissociative moment where I was out of my body. I noticed at that moment how I thought I was better than everyone because they all had these nervous ticks. Then it hit me, why do I keep touching my hair when I’m self-conscious? Why do we all do these little things to be noticed, yet simultaneously hide our true selves?

But the more I reflect, the more I realize that loneliness plays a big role in my growth. Last night, after a conversation with my mom, I experienced a wave of loneliness that hit me hard. Despite being surrounded by family, I felt isolated—misunderstood. In that moment, I was reminded of the times I’ve felt disconnected, even when I’m in a room full of people.

My mom’s comment about me having "small man syndrome" stung. But it also revealed something important about how I view myself and how others view me. For years, I’ve been trying to prove something—whether it’s my worth, my intellect, or my attractiveness. It’s strange because I never thought of myself as confident until I moved to Tampa. It was there, in a new city, that I discovered my self-assurance. I learned that being well-read, and articulate can be a form of attractiveness in itself.

But even with this newfound confidence, I still feel a sense of loneliness. It’s the kind of loneliness that comes from feeling misunderstood, from not finding others who share your worldview. It’s the kind of loneliness that makes you question whether you’re on the right path or if you’re simply out of sync with the world around you.

So, what does all this reflection tell me? It tells me that the art of noticing isn’t just about observing the world around us—it’s about noticing ourselves. Our habits, our reactions, our insecurities—they’re all telling us something about who we are. The key is to stop avoiding them, and to stop rushing past the small moments that offer the most insight. In the quiet, in the mundane, we can find clarity. It’s in the small gestures, the awkward silences, the little ticks and habits that we reveal our true selves. It’s through this noticing that we come to understand our desires, our fears, and ultimately, our purpose. Life isn’t just about the big moments—it’s about what we see, or fail to see, in the quiet spaces between. And maybe, just maybe, that’s where we find the courage to be who we truly are.