I've always been an observer; of people, of behavior, of the subtle nuances in conversations that often communicate just as much as the words being spoken. It's something I've always been fascinated by, and naturally, it's become an integral part of the work I do with clients. I pay attention to the way someone's breathing changes when we begin exploring a particular experience, the hesitation that sometimes comes before an answer, or the way their expression shifts when they begin connecting something from their past to what they're experiencing in the present. I'm endlessly curious about people, the experiences that have shaped them, and the ways those experiences influence how they move through the world. And while I've spent years studying human behavior, psychology, and the nervous system, one of the things that continues to fascinate me most is how much we can learn when we're willing to pay attention without immediately deciding we already understand what we're seeing.
I feel there's something particularly interesting about the difference between observing someone and interpreting their behavior, because those two things often happen so closely together that we don't recognize where one ends and the other begins. In my work, I can notice that someone becomes quieter, that their posture changes, or that they respond differently when we begin discussing a certain subject. Those observations may tell me there's something worth exploring, but they don't automatically explain what that person is experiencing. That's where curiosity and conversation become important. Yet outside of a therapeutic setting, we tend to be much quicker to assign meaning to what we notice. Someone's tone changes and we assume they're upset. They take longer than usual to respond and we wonder whether we've done something wrong. Our brains are remarkably good at recognizing patterns, but they're also influenced by our previous experiences and expectations. Sometimes, without realizing it, we become so focused on the story we've created around an observation that we stop being curious about the person we're observing.
Something I've come to appreciate through my work is that two people can experience the exact same situation and walk away with entirely different understandings of what happened. Psychology helps explain some of this because our attention is selective. We aren't consciously processing every detail of our surroundings at once, so our minds prioritize certain information based on what we're interested in, what we've learned, and what our previous experiences have taught us might be important. Someone who's spent years navigating unpredictable relationships may be particularly attentive to subtle changes in another person's mood, while someone else may barely register those same changes. Neither person's interpretation is automatically correct simply because they noticed something, but both are experiencing the situation through the lens of their own histories. There's something very valuable about recognizing that our experience of a situation isn't necessarily the only experience happening within it.
I also think this has a lot to do with how we listen to one another. How often are we participating in a conversation while simultaneously preparing what we're going to say next? Or listening to someone explain their experience while mentally comparing it to something we've been through ourselves? I don't feel most of us do this intentionally, and there are plenty of times when relating someone's experience to our own can help create connection. But there's a difference between listening to understand someone and listening through the filter of what we already believe we know. In my client work, I'm continually reminded that people don't always have the language to explain what they're experiencing, particularly when they're beginning to explore patterns or emotions they haven't previously understood. Sometimes the most valuable thing I can offer isn't another explanation or an immediate solution, but the space for someone to explore their own experience without feeling rushed toward a conclusion. And I wonder how different some of our everyday conversations might feel if we allowed a little more room for that same curiosity.
Beyond the way we observe and relate to other people, I've been thinking quite a bit about how much of our own lives we spend mentally occupied with something other than what we're actually experiencing. We live in a world where there's almost always something competing for our attention, and we've become accustomed to filling even the smallest pockets of time. We listen to podcasts while driving, respond to messages while eating, and mentally organize tomorrow's responsibilities while we're still trying to get through today. I'm certainly not immune to any of this. I love learning, I have a business to run, and there are always things I'm excited to work on or explore. But there's an interesting relationship between attention and memory that I think deserves consideration. Our brains don't preserve every experience exactly as it happened, and what we pay attention to influences what we're more likely to remember. When our attention is divided between competing demands, we may process fewer details of what we're experiencing, which can affect what we're able to recall later. And while I don't believe every moment needs to be memorable or meaningful, I do wonder how much of our lives we're mentally moving past while waiting for something else to begin.
As I've moved into a different season of my own life, I've been thinking more intentionally about what I want my days to feel like. If you’ve been around a minute, you know I’ve talked quite a bit about slowing down. I think there's a tendency to associate that with doing less or stepping away from ambition. That's never been what it means to me. I love my work, I love learning, and I have plenty of ideas and experiences I'm excited to pursue. There are seasons when life requires us to move quickly, and I don't believe there's anything inherently wrong with being busy or productive. But I also recognize how easy it can be to become so occupied with building a life that we rarely give ourselves permission to enjoy the one we're living. Sometimes that means being fully engaged in a conversation with someone I care about, spending time outside without feeling the need to accomplish anything, or allowing myself to enjoy an ordinary afternoon without mentally turning it into another opportunity to be productive.
I also recognize that paying attention isn't always comfortable, particularly when we're talking about what's happening within ourselves. Sometimes when we stop occupying ourselves with everything happening around us, we become more aware of thoughts, emotions, or physical sensations that have been sitting quietly in the background. In my work, I see how differently people can experience that kind of awareness. For some, slowing down and turning their attention inward can feel supportive, while for others it can bring up discomfort, particularly when they've experienced significant stress or difficult circumstances. It's one of the reasons I'm cautious about presenting mindfulness or presence as though they're universally calming experiences. They can be valuable, but they aren't experienced the same way by everyone, and I don't think we need to turn paying attention into another thing people feel they're doing incorrectly.
What I keep coming back to is the relationship between attention and curiosity, particularly when we consider how quickly familiarity can convince us that there's nothing new to discover. We can become so accustomed to the people in our lives that we stop asking questions because we assume we already know the answers. We can develop such fixed ideas about ourselves that we overlook the ways we're changing, or become so familiar with our routines that we stop noticing the experiences happening within them. Yet people are continually learning, changing, and being shaped by experiences we may know very little about. I think one of the most meaningful things we can offer another person is the willingness to remain curious about who they are rather than assuming our previous understanding of them is complete. And perhaps we owe ourselves that same curiosity, particularly when we're navigating seasons of change and beginning to recognize that some of the things we once believed about ourselves no longer feel entirely true.
I think one of the most humbling things about spending so much of my life studying people, behavior, and the human experience is recognizing how much I still don't know. Every person I sit across from has an entire lifetime of experiences influencing how they see themselves and the world around them, and no amount of education or observation will ever give me the complete picture of what it means to be them. There's something beautiful about that, though. It reminds me that curiosity is something we can carry into every relationship, every conversation, and every season of our lives. We don't have to understand everything we encounter, and perhaps there's a little freedom in allowing ourselves to experience something without immediately needing to explain it.
I wonder what might change if we approached more of our lives that way. If we became a little less certain that we already know what someone means, a little more willing to ask questions, and a little more interested in the experiences unfolding around us. If we gave ourselves permission to enjoy the ordinary moments without feeling the need to turn them into something productive or significant. Because when I think about the life I want to continue creating, I don't simply think about the places I want to go, the things I want to accomplish, or the experiences I want to have. I think about how I want to feel while I'm living it, the relationships I want to nurture, and whether I'm giving those things the attention they deserve.
And perhaps that's the part worth sitting with. One day, so many of the things we're currently rushing toward will become memories, and the ordinary moments we're moving through right now will be part of the life we look back on. I don't expect to remember every conversation, every afternoon, or every little detail along the way, but I do want to know that I was here for as much of it as I could be. That I allowed myself to be curious, to be surprised, to change my mind, and to experience the people and places that made my life what it was.
Because I don't want to reach the end of a beautiful life only to realize how much of it I spent waiting for the next part to begin.
Loving you,
Brittany Moore
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