A Different Way of Seeing

This week was a whirlwind.

Every day felt like a 12–14 hour sprint—my Enneagram Three heart quietly thrilled by the movement, the progress, the sense that something was always advancing. There’s a kind of adrenaline in productivity that can feel almost sacred… until it isn’t. Until it starts asking deeper questions.

Somewhere in the middle of all the doing, I found myself thinking about meaning. About life. About what any of it is really for.

And strangely, I found myself thinking about… things.

Not big things. Just things.

The kind you pass by without noticing. The kind that fills your days so completely you stop seeing them at all.

But something shifted.

Instead of just looking at things, I started looking into them.

And that subtle shift—it’s easy to miss—but it changed everything.

Because when you look into something, it becomes alive.

A new language begins to emerge.

What was once background noise starts to sound like music—quiet, holy, and full.

One morning this week, groggy-eyed, I had a moment in my closet. I was wearing a sweatshirt—nothing special by any standard. But it’s soft. Really soft. I love it.

And for a moment, I paused.

I thought about the person who made it.

The hands that stitched it together.

The warmth it offers me without asking anything in return.

And as I hung it back up, there was this brief—maybe 60-second—moment of gratitude.

It wouldn’t have happened if I had just looked at it.

But I looked into it.

And that changed the moment entirely.

It made me realize something:

We are surrounded by an infinite number of worlds, hidden in plain sight.

And this weekend, I want to offer you a simple practice—

Look into your things.

Not just at them.

Into them.

The steam rising from your coffee.

The way an espresso shot settles into the cup.

The color ring around your child’s eyes.

Even the things you don’t own—

The stars.

The wildflowers along the highway.

The breeze choreographing leaves in the trees.

The memories that surface when you sit with a sunset a little longer than usual.

All of it is available.

All of it is speaking.

Not in words, exactly—but in something deeper. Something that feels a lot like communion.

So this weekend, if you can…

Pull up a chair.

Slow down.

And look into your things.

You may just hear what they’ve been trying to say all along.

Namaste,

Ashton