Think back twenty years ago, if you can—ten if you can’t.
Remember what it was like standing in line at the bank to cash a check. The smell of paper and ink and glue and coinage and floor cleaner. Staring at the other people in line, getting a feel for what they’re there for, a glimpse into their lives. All kinds of people with all kinds of stories.
The clock on the wall is basic, ticking. Below the low buzz of chatter, you can even hear it ticking if you try. As you wait, you feel the weight in your knees, maybe some soreness in your shoulders and neck, your stomach gurgling, you fix up your posture. You feel the breeze of the vent, and hear the uncomfortable shuffle of feet not fully lifted off the ground moving forward with the line. It’s not that you’re paying attention to all of this. It just is. It’s what’s around. It’s what you’re taking in. You’re not particularly focused, you’re not really thinking about any of it— not on any conscious level. Maybe this or that jogs a memory, or reminds you of your to-do list, or an upcoming anniversary, or family members, or something funny you saw on TV last night. You’re not really paying attention – but you are present.