“The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody’d move. You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south, the deers would still be drinking out of that water hole, with their pretty antlers and they’re pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be weaving that same blanket. Nobody’d be different. The only thing that would be different would be you. Not that you’d be so much older or anything. It wouldn’t be that, exactly. You’d just be different, that’s all. You’d have an overcoat this time. Or the kid that was your partner in line the last time had got scarlet fever and you’d have a new partner. Or you’d have a substitute taking the class, instead of Miss Aigletinger. Or you’d heard your mother and father having a terrific fight in the bathroom. Or you’d just passed by one of those puddles in the street with gasoline rainbows in them. I mean you’d be different in some way—I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it.”

~ The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger

This passage touches on two themes I have been pondering lately. If you’ve never read The Catcher in the Rye, wonderful! Read it this year. If you have read it, wonderful! Read it again this year. You will be different as you read it, just as Holden is observing in this passage. Each day brings little happenings or sightings or feelings or connections that do not change our essence but “add” to us in some way, changing the filter through which we experience even that which is everyday for us. For this to happen, we must be as aware as Holden is – we must take in the sounds and sights and smells around us and be moved by them, even if only a bit. I want to be both interested and interesting, keeping each of my senses aware to the world around me – to both the big picture and even more so to the tiny and simple pictures.

The inability to express in words what we mean when we share an observation such as this is the other theme I have been thinking about frequently. I have found myself at times trying so hard to put into words a thought I want to share that I begin to forget the essential beauty of the thought that touched me in the first place. Sometimes, thoughts are so precious that to share them and bring them into the light leaves us feeling a vulnerability that again can rob our thoughts of some of their preciousness. How beautiful that music and art can express these thoughts without words. How blessed is the poet who can express with words – just the right words and no more. What a treasure to have a friend who can understand the essential beauty in my thoughts and observations without any need to put them to words — when even if I could, I’m not sure I’d want to.