Picture this: growing up in a house perched on the side of a hill, where every day began with a simple but defining choice—up or down?
Flying downhill on your bike felt like pure freedom, the wind rushing past, the world a blur. But the trip back up? That was another story—pedaling with all your might, hoping you’d make it to the top.
That hill became part of how I learned about the world.
My parents encouraged us to explore, to experience, to learn through doing. They always urged us to get outside and play, and took us to museums and hiking in parks. But there’s one memory that stands out: a trip to our local library, which sat at the bottom of the hill.
On our way there I was chatting away about something I had seen—probably something mundane—when my dad stopped me in my tracks. Now, my dad, with his infinite patience, wasn’t one to interrupt, but when he did, I slowed down and listened. He pointed out that the building I was referring to was not made of traditional bricks, but a manufactured brick material.
And then he said something that stuck with me: “If you want to be an artist, it’s important to see these differences.”
At the time, I was all in on the idea of becoming an artist. So, I took his words seriously. But that advice about "looking closely" didn’t just help me as an artist—it opened my eyes to a way of being in the world. There were times when my curiosity was a fast-moving thrill of discovery. Yet, I sometimes had to slow down to find a deeper appreciation of the people and places around me.
Over time, I discovered that connecting with others opened up new ways of seeing. Each of us has a distinct perspective to offer. Take my friend, who always carries a magnifying glass on walks—she can turn a patch of moss or a tiny flower into something magical.
I also love visiting museums with someone, where I often notice things I’d missed on my own. In those moments, you not only learn something new, but also about the person you’re with.
Seeing, really seeing, takes time. It takes patience. It requires focus. And for me, it often means putting my phone aside for a while.
Some days, it feels like flying down a hill; other days, that hill seems impossible. But I’ve learned that when I make the effort, when I take time to look at something, to listen to someone, to let curiosity lead me, there’s a deeper understanding waiting at the top of the hill. And that understanding? It connects me to the world in a way that enriches my life, builds relationships, and makes me feel more rooted to the place I live.
Seeing is a daily decision. It can feel like pedaling uphill, but you don't have to make that journey alone. Bring someone along to help set the pace, it could open up a whole new world of understanding.
And the reward? The reward is like coming home.
Sue Scott is Director of the Western Illinois Museum in Macomb.
The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of TSPR or its license holder, Western Illinois University.
Diverse opinions are welcomed and encouraged.