I don't notice stuff.
A common cop show scenario will have an anxious young rookie riding with a seasoned beat cop, and the seasoned man tells the rookie to describe the scene they just passed without looking. The rookie is expected to relate what people were wearing and doing, how tall/fat/skinny/bald/whatever they are, the makes/models/color of the cars in the scene, and how they reacted to the store owner coming out for a smoke on the curb. The rookie tries and fails dismally, of course, thus demonstrating the utter superiority of the old fart in the driver's seat.
I could never be a cop, I guess. I'm doing good to notice a change in my surroundings given hours (weeks, months, years).
For instance, when I was young (10 to 12, I guess), I remember spending a pleasant day with my grandmother, cleaning house, cooking, cleaning more, cooking more. OK. It wasn't my idea of heaven, but the company was great. I frequently spent time with my grandmother. I had noticed on this particular occasion that she looked different in some way, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It was a niggling observation that prodded me from time to time throughout the day, causing me a moment's contemplation and mild discomfort, then it would go away. At the end of the day, she said, "Why haven't you said anything about my new glasses?"
They were quite different from the ones she'd worn my entire life, and they were quite attractive. I'd noticed, strictly speaking, that something was different, but that usually isn't enough (and wasn't in this case).
On another occasion, I was riding in the car with Mother when she commented about some ongoing construction, and wondered when it would be complete. When I asked "Where?" she said, "You haven't noticed? For an artist, you aren't very perceptive." That bugged me for years, probably because I couldn't see how noticing something and having the ability to reproduce something you are looking at are in any way connected (I decided they aren't). But still...this was a house we drove past every day, and I'd never noticed the quite obvious changes it was undergoing.
Apparently, I've meandered, blissfully unobservant, through life for nigh on 40 years (not quite, but I may as well round up at this point). It's a wonder I haven't fallen down an abandoned mine shaft or been run over yet. I don't even notice new furniture that appears in my home, necessarily--unless it's something I use.*
* This explains, quite neatly, why I am unconcerned with home decoration. I enjoy the decoration of others' homes--the first time or two I visit. After that, I don't notice. After I move into my own home, I rarely if ever note or care what's on the walls. Although I might draw the line at the staring head of an eight-point buck, should one happen to appear there.
I've been thinking about this because I've recently been having one of those on-going conversations with my roommate about it. She is hypervigilant, and her ability to note even the tiniest change in her surroundings amazes me. I could buy a small, decorative porcelain something and set it on the mantle, and she would notice it within ten minutes of coming through the door.
She's like a cat. Have you ever noticed how you can drop your shoes in an unaccustomed place in a room, and when the cat walks in, it will instantly go over and check out the shoes? It's like the cat has a map in its head that tells it exactly where everything was when it was last there, that it compares against the present scene every time it walks through the door. I've always wondered how cats do that, but I'm far more impressed with humans who do it.
We'll be driving somewhere, and I'll note, "That's a cute little real estate business. I wonder how long that's been there?" She'll say, "Since January." Or worse...a couple of days ago, I noticed a rather unusual house on a trailer in a strange place, pointed to it and said, "You want a house?"
She said, "I don't know why they leave that there. I guess they're never going to do anything with it."
I said, "How long has it been there?"
"Over two and a half years."
Gaaah.
What's my problem? I've wondered this for a while. Part of it is a distinct lack of interest in my surroundings. Not much changes out there, and it's rarely interesting or exciting. I think another part is the fact that I spend a great deal of time lost in my thoughts, only superficially paying attention to my surroundings (so I don't wreck or walk into traffic).
I have been attempting to improve my observation skills since I was young. If it can be taught,* I apparently need direction, because I don't seem to have made any progress.
* I'm not sure of this, though. It may be a product of chemical imbalance, or perhaps there's a "vigilance gene" scientists haven't yet discovered.
Can any of you vigilant types out there give me some pointers--something more useful than "just pay attention, you idiot"?
d
