“You notice things most people don’t.” The words hung in the air, a casual observation that landed with surprising weight. At first, I shrugged it off. Didn’t everyone see the chipped paint shaped like an iguana on the park bench, the subtle shift in the barista’s demeanor, the way a particular song could instantly transport someone back in time and the look on their face when it did.
But the comment lingered, a quiet hum beneath the surface of my daily life. And the more I pondered it, the more I realized there might be a kernel of truth in that simple statement. It wasn’t about being exceptionally intelligent or possessing some kind of photographic memory. It was more about a particular way of engaging with the world, a heightened awareness of the subtle textures that often fade into the background for others.
For me, the world isn’t just a stage with broad strokes and loud pronouncements. It’s a tapestry woven with intricate details, whispered nuances, and unspoken stories etched into the everyday. I find myself drawn to the periphery, the fleeting expressions on faces in a crowd, the almost imperceptible tremor in a hand, the way sunlight catches dust motes dancing in the air, the way trees seem bare one day and full of leaves the next.
It’s not a conscious effort, not a deliberate act of scrutiny. It’s more like a natural inclination, a tuning of the senses to a frequency that often goes unheard. While others might focus on the main event, my attention often drifts to the supporting cast, backdrop, and quiet moments that reveal so much about the larger picture.
This can manifest in countless ways. I might notice the specific shade of blue of a child’s forgotten toy lying in the grass, and a wave of untold stories washes over me. I might pick up on the barely perceptible shift in the atmosphere of a room, sensing tension or excitement before it’s explicitly voiced. I might hear the faint melody of a bird call that others seem oblivious to, and for a moment, everything else fades away. I’m the guy who goes to a concert or sports event and is almost as interested in how they put the stage together or how the baseball grounds crew does their job. Yeah, I watch the Zamboni, sometimes two now, go around the ice between periods. Not just one lap, most of them.
Sometimes, this heightened awareness feels like a secret language, a private conversation between me and the world. I see connections and patterns that others might miss, weaving together seemingly disparate observations into a richer understanding of a situation or a person. It’s like having access to a hidden layer of reality, a subtle commentary playing beneath the surface of the obvious.
Of course, this way of perceiving the world isn’t mine alone and isn’t always a walk in the park. It can be overwhelming at times, with a constant influx of sensory information that can feel like a low-grade hum of anxiety. The weight of unspoken emotions, the awareness of subtle shifts in mood, and the constant awareness of small imperfections can sometimes feel like a burden. I’m the guy who comes up with a blog idea, which then begets several more on different topics or perhaps an entire series on one topic and all from an observation.
There are moments when I want to tune it all out, glide through the world with a more selective filter, and focus only on the big picture. But then, I would miss the quiet beauty of a single raindrop clinging to a leaf, the unspoken understanding in a shared glance, and the resilience and experience etched in the lines of an aging face. I would also miss golden opportunities to write about it, right down to an article about how the patio crowd is different, or whatever else I store in my mind and then transfer to the keyboard.
And there are moments when this ability proves surprisingly insightful. I might notice a flicker of hesitation in someone’s eyes that contradicts their confident words or a subtle inconsistency in a story that raises a quiet alarm bell. It’s not about being judgmental or suspicious but about recognizing the subtle cues that often betray the truth.
Ultimately, noticing what others might miss isn’t about being superior or different. It’s simply a different way of experiencing the world, a lens through which reality is filtered. It’s about finding wonder in the mundane, meaning in the minute, and stories in the silence. It’s about appreciating the intricate beauty of the everyday, the quiet hum of the unseen that often holds the most profound truths. And while it might sometimes feel like carrying a little extra weight, it also enriches my life in countless, immeasurable ways, reminding me that the world is always speaking, if only we take the time to listen and truly see.
John Berkovich Talks 