One day, while on a long walk through the busy streets of London I noticed how many people were walking, heads bent, eyes fixed on glowing screens. Unlike in the past where you’d cross paths and have occasional moments of connection, It felt as though I had stepped into a different world.
There was something jarring about that, and I made a conscious choice to stop moving through life on autopilot, tethered to my phone like the people I saw while on my walk. I wanted to resume looking, to return to noticing my environment, other people, nature.
By stepping back and becoming a people watcher, I realised that the world is constantly whispering secrets to us; we are usually just too distracted to hear them. For instance, I often come across dogs and dog-owners who look remarkably alike. I sometimes take pictures of them (not for social media) because I am genuinely fascinated by the resemblance. It is a tiny, whimsical detail you would never catch while scrolling through a feed or watching one of those short videos that feed into other shorts and steal hours from you.
The Science and Soul of Attention
There is a simple truth supported by research: our attention is directly tied to our memory and our perception. Cognitive science shows that if you do not pay attention to something, you are unlikely to remember it or find any meaning in it.
As a writer, this is especially important. Attention is everything because your raw material isn’t just your experience; it is also your noticed experience.
In my work, I haven’t ventured into fiction or created characters from my imagination yet.
My path has leaned toward biographies, telling the stories of real people and their very real journeys.
This focus has made the discipline of observation even more vital. Writing about a real person is so much more than listing dates or documenting milestones; it is the delicate art of interpretation. You find yourself reading between the lines of a life. In this space, observation isn’t just a tool in my kit; it is the work itself.
I remember researching Chief Kowofoworola Abeni Pratt years ago. She was the first black nurse in the National Health Service in the UK, but it wasn’t just her impressive credentials as a pioneer of nursing in Nigeria and the UK that drew me to her. It was her tenacity, consistency, and her husband’s steady support. By staying with her story long enough to look beneath the obvious, I was able to see the difficult environments she navigated and the persistence it took to keep going.
Finding Meaning in the Ordinary
I have long followed the work of Priscilla Shirer, a pastor and teacher whose messages are alive with imagery drawn from everyday life. She can look at a simple tree and see a lesson. She can stand in a grocery store line and find a lesson in patience. I used to wonder what kind of special eyes she had to see the world that way.
The more I studied her approach, the more I understood it wasn’t a mystical gift. It was attention, deliberately cultivated. She has trained herself to look at the ordinary and see the deeper truth. For a writer or storyteller of any sort, really, this is transformative. Storytelling is mostly about “meaning-making”, allowing our brains to make connections from the things our senses process. For example, the ability to look at a cracked window and see loneliness, or a shared meal and see belonging.
People who think this way recall details better and make stronger connections. In writing, that translates directly to depth.
The Observer’s Edge
We live in a culture where speed is ingrained. There is constant pressure to respond quickly and join the noise before a moment passes. In that environment, taking the time to simply watch can feel like a luxury or an afterthought.
However, I’ve come to see that observation gives you a massive creative edge. While the world is reacting, the observer understands. While others are eager to speak, the observer is interpreting what was said and, more importantly, what was left unsaid.
This discipline shapes your voice over time. You stop borrowing language or leaning on trends because your words are grounded in the enduring, not the ephemeral.
Writing does not begin when you open a laptop. It begins in how you live, how you notice, and how you interpret the world around you.
