Instructions For Seeing The World

Step 1. Step outside, barefoot
‍Feel the earth and decide if it’s warm.
If it isn’t, ask yourself: when did the world last feel soft beneath you?
‍Watch the way grass bends, then forgives.
There’s a lesson there,
but no one will write it down for you.
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Step 2. Find water that isn’t for drinking
A fountain, a creek,
the puddle a child stomped through just before they were called home.
Touch it without reason.
Ask yourself how long it’s been -
not since you felt clean,
but since you felt small,
like you belonged to something larger
than your inbox, your rent, your name.
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Step 3. Write someone’s name in the air
Let it vanish like a secret whispered to no one.
‍Who do you write first?
‍Is it someone you lost?
Or someone you hope is writing your name back, in rooms you haven’t seen.
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Step 4. Listen for a sound you can’t explain
Not a bird. Not traffic,
but the hum of everything else -
where your memories gather when you’re not looking.
If you think you hear it,
stop.
Stand still long enough for the quiet to meet you halfway.
Ask: What’s left of you here?
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Step 5. Carry a stone in your pocket
‍Something smooth, something silent.
Keep it close for hours or days,
then leave it somewhere a stranger might find.
‍Why?
Because maybe they’ll see it.
Maybe they’ll carry it.
Maybe nothing even happens at all,
and the stone stays waiting -
still, but changed.
Kind of like you.
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Step 6. Turn back when you’re ready
Notice how the world feels a little heavier,
like it missed you.
Take off your shoes again.
Step through the door like you’re new.
Ask yourself one last thing:
‍Did you see it?
‍The world, I mean.
Or did it see you first?