What we see in the world around us is to a large extent a matter of choice. Do we take
time every day to look, really look, at things? To find the beauty, or the humor, or the
charm, or the mystery in them? When riding the bus to work, do we stare aimlessly out
the window, or do we make an effort to look at the color of the sky, the shapes of the
clouds? Do we look closely enough to allow ourselves to be delighted by the funny little
dog trotting along the sidewalk? Or to feel sympathy, or admiration, or sadness when we
watch an elderly woman walking slowly and carefully out her front door? It is natural to
be preoccupied by our own thoughts, or to be lulled into not noticing all that is around
us while we do routine errands. And there is nothing wrong in daydreaming from time
to time. But the more we can be mindful of what we are doing as we are doing it, the
healthier and happier we will be. Mindfulness is a choice, and it is something we can
practice: When our mind wanders—whether while eating, doing the dishes, writing a report,
or walking to our car—we can gently shift our focus back to the wonders that are
everywhere to be found. The best advice that I can think of for becoming more mindful is
to read—and reread—Helen Keller’s essay “Three Days to See.” Keller, who lost her sight
and hearing when she was nineteen months old as a result of an illness, writes about
what she would do if she were given back the use of these senses for just three days. In
the essay, she recounts a conversation she had with a friend who returned from an hour-
long walk in the woods. Keller asks her friend what she saw, and the friend replies,
“Nothing in particular.” Keller wonders how it is possible to walk through the woods and
yet see nothing worthy of note: I who am blind can give one hint to those who see—one
admonition to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if