Who Knew Our Brains Had Spam Filters?

When my mom first got her hearing aids, the doctor warned her that the first couple of weeks would be an adjustment. She had been living in a relatively quiet world, and suddenly she was going to hear everything. The ice maker in the refrigerator, someone closing a car door outside, birds chirping in the trees. Things the rest of us barely notice anymore were about to become major events in her day. The doctor explained that her brain would need a little time to figure out which sounds were worth paying attention to and which ones it could safely ignore. I found the whole concept fasicnating to be honest.

Around that same time, my husband and I took a three-week road trip that included visits to several national parks. I have to interrupt my own story here to say that if you ever have the opportunity to visit some of our national parks, please do. The beauty in this country is absolutely incredible. Mountains, canyons, rock formations, landscapes that look like someone got a little carried away with the special effects. There were moments when I honestly couldn't believe what I was looking at. It was a trip filled with so much beauty that I didnt want to come home.

But here's the part I didn't expect. When we finally did get home, after three weeks of being completely blown away by places we'd never seen before, I found myself looking around home with that same sense of amazement. I was noticing the mountains, the desert, the colors, the sunsets. Things I drove past every single day. It was almost like I was seeing it all for the first time again. The funny thing is, that's exactly how I had felt when we first moved here.

We had moved to the Southwest a little over a year earlier, and I remember being completely mesmerized by the mountains. I would drive around looking in every direction, amazed that this was where I actually lived. I couldn't get over the fact that there were mountains everywhere and omg, the sunsets! I had become one of those people who takes seventeen pictures of essentially the same sunset because each one is somehow more beautiful than the last.

I was constantly pointing things out, as though my husband might have missed the enormous mountain range directly in front of us. Everything felt so new and extraordinary. But somewhere between settling into our new home, running errands, and getting on with everyday life, the extraordinary had quietly become ordinary. The mountains hadn't changed. I'd just gotten used to them.

After three weeks away, though, I found myself staring at them again. The colors, the shapes, the way the sunlight changes everything throughout the day. Same mountains. Same desert. Same spectacular sunsets. The only thing that had changed was the person looking at them.

That's when I thought about my mom and her hearing aids. Her brain was learning to filter out sounds that had suddenly become noticeable. Mine had been doing the same thing with the beauty around me. At some point, my brain had decided the mountains weren't worth the same attention they used to get. I suppose that's a good thing when it comes to refrigerators and car doors, but it seems a shame when it comes to things that make life beautiful.

Which got me thinking about what else my brain was filtering out. How many wonderful things in our lives have quietly become background noise? Things that once made us happy, excited, or grateful, but that we've gotten so used to having around that we barely give them a second thought. The people we love, the little moments that make us smile, the things we once wished for that have somehow become just another Tuesday. I wonder how many things in my life I would be completely amazed by if I were seeing them for the first time.

Then there's the other side of it. If our brains are so good at deciding what deserves our attention, why does mine spend so much time focusing on the wrong things? Worry, stress, finances, responsibilities, and things that haven't happened yet and, with any luck, never will. I have an impressive ability to worry about things that exist entirely in my imagination. Give me one small concern and a little free time, and by dinner I've convinced myself we're all doomed, even though absolutely nothing has happened.

Meanwhile, there's an absolutely gorgeous sunset happening right outside my window. It's almost impressive how efficiently I can ignore something beautiful while giving my undivided attention to something terrible that hasn't even happened.

Maybe that's the part that bothers me most. What if we're not just filtering out the good things because we've gotten used to them? What if we're so busy filling our heads with worries and what-ifs that there simply isn't enough room left to notice them? It's like my brain has a limited number of seats, and somehow anxiety keeps getting upgraded to first class while gratitude is stuck on standby.

I know we can't just decide to stop worrying. Believe me, if that were an option, I would have checked that box years ago. Bills still need paying, problems still need solving, and life has never once consulted me before throwing something unexpected in my direction.

I don't think we need to ignore the difficult things or pretend everything is wonderful. Sometimes life is hard, and sometimes the worries are very real. But maybe we could be a little more selective about what gets the best of our attention. Maybe the good stuff deserves a little more space, even when the not-so-good stuff is being particularly loud.

Because maybe sometimes we don't need a change of scenery. Maybe we just need to remember to look at the scenery we already have.

If I could convince my brain to treat a beautiful sunset with the same urgency it gives an imaginary problem at three in the morning, I think we'd really be getting somewhere.

Plot twist… sometimes the most extraordinary things in our lives haven't changed at all. We've just forgotten to notice them.