What Have You Stopped Noticing?

What Have You Stopped Noticing?

The longer we're around something, the less we tend to see it. The neighborhood we drive through every day. The people we've known for years. Even the sunrise we've promised ourselves we'll stop to watch "someday."

In this episode of Notes from the Window Seat, I explore why familiarity makes remarkable things feel ordinary—and how curiosity helps us rediscover the wonder hiding in everyday life.

From early morning beach walks to traveling through unfamiliar countries, you'll discover why becoming a beginner again may be one of the healthiest things we can do.

In This Episode

•  Why our brains naturally stop noticing familiar things 
•  The hidden danger of "The Expert Trap" 
•  How travel makes us curious again 
•  The "Tourist Effect" and how to experience your hometown differently 
•  Why curiosity strengthens relationships 
•  A simple challenge to help you see the ordinary in extraordinary ways 

Window Seat Challenge

This week, visit a place you know well and pretend you've never been there before.

As you walk, ask yourself:

•  What am I overlooking? 
•  If this were my first visit, what would surprise me? 

You may not discover a new place. But you just might discover a new perspective.

 "The world rarely becomes less interesting.  We simply become less curious." 

Learn more about what we do here: Notes From The Window Seat

Learn more about the window seat here: Notes From The Window Seat

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Transcript

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SPEAKER_00 0:00

What have you stopped noticing? Maybe it's the sunrise on your way to work. Maybe it's the person you've known for 20 years. Maybe it's the town you've lived in your whole life. The strange thing about familiarity is that it slowly makes remarkable things feel ordinary. Unless we stay curious. Grab your cup of coffee and pull up a chair by the window. Now let me ask you another question. When was the last time you looked at something familiar and truly saw it? Not glanced at it, not walked past it, not checked it off your mental list, but actually noticed it. I think one of the greatest paradoxes of life is this. The longer we're around something, the less we tend to see it. The streets we drive every day, the people we love, the work we do, the view outside our kitchen window. They're all still there, often just as beautiful as they've always been. But familiarity has a funny way of making extraordinary things feel ordinary. And today I want to explore why that happens. And more importantly, how curiosity can help us see the world with fresh eyes again. Because I don't think the world becomes less interesting. I think we simply stop noticing. Now our brains are remarkable. Every second they process an incredible amount of information. The colors around us, the sounds, the movements, faces we see, conversations, things we smell. If we paid attention to every tiny detail, every moment of the day, we'd be more exhausted than we are. So our brains do something incredibly efficient. They create shortcuts. Once we've seen something enough time, our brain says, I've got this. I know this tree. I know this person. I know this job. I know how this story ends. And without realizing it, our attention quietly moves somewhere else. I mean, how often have you gotten to work and you weren't even sure how you got there? We simply stop noticing what's become familiar. It's useful. It helps us function. But it also comes with a cost. Because when we stop paying attention, we stop discovering. And I think that's one reason curiosity ages so beautifully. Curiosity interrupts those shortcuts. It whispers. Look again. There's something else I've been thinking about. The more experienced we become, the easier it is to fall into what I call the expert trap. Now experts are valuable, experience does matter, and confidence matters. But experience can quietly become certainty. And certainty often stops asking questions. Think about children for a moment. They ask questions constantly. Why this? How that? What if? Can we? And then somewhere along the way, adulthood teaches us that having the answers is more impressive than asking the questions. We become rewarded for certainty, not curiosity. But here's what I've noticed. The most interesting people I've ever met aren't the ones who know the most. They're the ones who are still learning. At eighty years old, they're still asking questions. They're reading books outside their profession. They're learning a new language. They're trying new foods, exploring new places, and listening to people whose lives look nothing like their own. They've never confused experience with completion. They understand that becoming an expert at something doesn't mean you stop learning other things. One of the reasons I love traveling is because it humbles me. I mean, the moment I land in another country, I'm a beginner again. I don't know the customs. Sometimes I can't even read the signs. I don't know which train platform I'm supposed to be standing on, and I don't know what half the menu says. And honestly, I love that feeling. Traveling reminds me that I don't need to have everything figured out. In fact, some of the best travel memories happened because I don't. A wrong turn becomes a hidden cafe. A conversation with a local changes the entire day's plan. A street you never intended to walk down becomes your favorite photograph. Curiosity turns mistakes into adventures. Confidence often wants control. Curiosity welcomes surprise. And here's something else I've noticed. Whether we're in Paris or London or Rome or anywhere else, everything feels exciting. A tiny little bakery, a bicycle leaning against a wall, laundry hanging from a balcony, the old doorway we stop and look at. We stop to photograph things the locals probably walk past every day. And why? Because everything is new to us. Our attention is awake. And then we come back home and suddenly we stop seeing again. We drive the same roads, we walk the same sidewalks, we visit the same coffee shop, and before long our hometown becomes invisible again. What if we learn to become tourists in our own neighborhoods? Imagine walking your favorite street as though you had just arrived from another country. What would catch your eye? What story would you wonder about? Who would you notice? It's not all really about travel. It's about paying attention. People often say to me, When did you take that photograph? I was with you all day and I didn't see that. Most of the time, I didn't find something extraordinary. I simply looked beyond the obvious. I looked a little longer. I looked at something from a different angle. Photography has taught me that most great images don't happen because someone has an expensive camera. They happened because someone stayed curious. Instead of photographing the obvious, they looked behind them. They looked up, or they looked around the corner. Instead of leaving after one picture, they waited. They asked, What story is hiding here? Photography isn't really about the camera settings. It's about paying attention. The camera simply records what curiosity discovered. And I think this might be the hardest part. We stop being curious about the people closest to us. We've known our spouse or our partner for years. We've worked with the same coworkers. We've watched our children grow up. We've had friends that we've had forever. And somewhere along the way, we begin assuming we already know everything worth knowing about them. But people don't stop changing. The quiet coworker has dreams you know nothing about. Your neighbor has lived a fascinating life. Your best friend is becoming someone new every year. Your spouse is still growing and changing. Your children keep growing and discovering who they are. The question isn't whether they're changing. The question is are we still curious enough to notice? Sometimes the most loving question we can ask isn't how is your day? It's what have you been thinking about lately? Curiosity can deepen a relationship. Now, if you listened to this show before, you probably already heard me talk about my beach walks. Three or four mornings a week, long before sunrise, my dog and I head to the beach. The streets are quiet, the horizon is still dark, and every single morning I expect to see something different. I have walked that same stretch of beach hundreds of times. People sometimes ask, don't you ever get bored walking the same beach? But actually, I think that's exactly why I keep going. Because no two mornings are ever the same. The clouds change, the tides change, all of the colors change. Sometimes I meet another early riser, and sometimes I just sit quietly and watch the sun climb above the horizon. The beach hasn't changed nearly as much as my willingness to pay attention. Curiosity has kept one familiar place endlessly interesting. I'd like to leave you with something practical. Tomorrow, go somewhere familiar, not somewhere exciting, somewhere ordinary. Walk the streets of your neighborhood, sit in your favorite coffee shop, walk a little slower, sit a little longer, and look for five things. One sound you never notice. One smell you've been ignoring. One person whose story you'd like to know more about. One detail almost everyone walks past. And think about one photograph almost nobody else would take. Then pause for just a moment and ask yourself two questions. What am I overlooking? And if this were my first visit, what would surprise me? Remember, you don't need a passport to experience wonder. Sometimes you simply need a different perspective. I've come to believe something. Confidence is important. It helps us begin. It helps us lead. It helps us make good decisions. But confidence can quietly convince us that we've already seen enough. Curiosity reminds us there's always another story, another lesson, another conversation, another sunrise, another way of seeing the same old thing. Maybe that's why curiosity ages better than confidence. Not because confidence loses its value, but because curiosity never stops inviting us to grow. The world hasn't stopped being amazing. The people around us haven't stopped being interesting. Life hasn't become ordinary. We've simply stopped paying attention. So this week, I want you to look again. Ask another question. Take the longer route. Talk to someone you've never spoken with before. Watch the sunrise. Notice something you've walked past a hundred times. Because every place, every person, and every ordinary day has another story waiting to be discovered. You just have to be curious enough to find it. Thanks for joining me for another episode of the podcast. As you move through your week, carry this question with you. What have you stopped noticing? You might be surprised where the answer finds you, because sometimes the best questions aren't meant to be answered immediately. They're meant to change the way we see. So until next time, grab a cup of coffee. Find a seat by the window. And long enough, long enough.