Hope and Heart Rocks
Googling the phenomenon of frequency bias
I push my sunglasses back up against my nose as my sweat challenges them to stay in place. The morning is heating up. I’m grateful for the warmth on my shoulders as I know my weekend beach visit is over tomorrow and I’ll be back to wearing snow boots.
I continue barefoot in the sand. The saltwater laps at my ankles and I see a dog-paddling ahead. A happy black lab keeps looking to his human to say, “seriously, best day ever. I love water! I love sunshine! I love you!” Of course, I’m reading into this with his wet fur and wagging tail and dripping tongue. But I have dogs and know that their joy is transparent. This is a super happy dog. I can’t help but smile.
Walking alone my mind drifts and settles on the ocean path. I’ve stopped bringing rocks and shells and other ephemera home. My immediate family doesn’t share the same collecting gene that I inherited from my elders. Now I collect by way of taking photos on my phone. The waves are steady but timid. They wash up a heart rock. I take a video. Don’t bring it home. I snap some photos. Leave it for the next gatherer.
I watch my step for the bits of bleached coral and washed-up sponges. Another heart rock. I collect it on my camera roll. One might argue it’s not a heart. Maybe none of these are, but the repetition feels like a game. Looking for good. Hope in hearts.
I Google “psychology of seeing things and noticing more of them.” Thankfully I’m not the only person who’s created this wordy of a search. The answer is the Baader-Meinhof (pronounced badder mine hoff) phenomenon, otherwise known as frequency illusion or selective bias. I remember the same feeling when I was first pregnant and suddenly, I noticed pregnant women everywhere. Or when I bought my first car. Never noticed the model before and then my brain selectively found it all over the roads.
The World Feels So Heavy
I can’t fix COVID. I can’t impact what’s happening in Ukraine. Everyone I talk to doesn’t know how to process what is happening around us. Perhaps just like the last few years have felt like death by a thousand cuts to so many of us, we’re numb.
A toddler in a saggy-bottomed bathing suit wobbles ahead of me. Her white sun hat dips over her eyes and shields her tender head. A little pudgy hand grips her parents’ steady one. I feel a catch in my chest—our three kids now look me in the eye—but oh, those tiny hands! The tide bubbles and covers their feet. A seabird lands near her and she squeals with joy. My toe touches a scratchy rock and there’s another heart. Looks almost like asphalt.
Love. All Around
Maybe I’m simply seeing heart rocks as a means to find hope today. Smiles from strangers. Sharing our humanity. Looking for positivity in heart rocks and other signs of hope and unity to continue forward each day, even as we struggle.
