Before you read my thoughts, watch this video (I promise it’s worth the 9 minutes and 23 seconds of your day): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eC7xzavzEKY

Seriously…go watch it.

Two young fish swimming past an older fish who says, “Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the young fish swim on for a bit before one turns to the other and goes, “What the hell is water?”

If you’ve heard David Foster Wallace’s now-famous commencement speech, “This is Water”, you know that simple question is the heart of it. The fish don’t even know what water is because it’s everywhere and invisible, just like the stuff we live in every day: our default ways of thinking, the automatic frustrations, the routines we don’t even notice. That’s what This Is Water is really about: waking up to the “water” around us, the mental habits that shape how we see everything.

When I first heard the speech in high school (shoutout to Mrs. Heidecker, who shaped how I think more than she probably knows), I remember being floored. Not in a loud, dramatic way, but in a “whoa, I never thought about it like that way”. I ended up buying the book, just the speech printed out, cover to cover, and gave it to my then best friend as a graduation present. It felt like the right kind of gift for stepping into the real world: something small but sharp, something that might keep you afloat when the water gets murky. (In case you’re reading this…I hope you’re swimming through it just fine :))

And then, years later, This Is Water swam back into my life.

This time, I came across it in a college class I wasn’t technically supposed to be in. I’d found this professor who felt like the future version of me. He was doing work I admired, assigning things I already loved doing. So I emailed him and asked if I could just sit in. No grade, no credit, just curiosity. He said yes (But this is a whole story for another day).

It was a three-hour class, and I didn’t touch my phone once. Just sat there, fully present. The kind of presence that feels rare now to me: no tabs open, no distractions, not even doodling on the edge of my notebook. Not because I was trying to be good, but because I really didn’t want to miss anything.

That’s what “attention” has started to mean to me. Not gritting your teeth through boring things, but letting yourself be fully somewhere. Choosing to care, even when you don’t have to.

And I think that’s what the speech is really about. It’s not a motivational quote or a call to grind harder. It’s just an invitation to wake up. To see the stuff you’ve trained yourself to look past. Noticing the person in front of you. The way the light hits the kitchen counter. The fact that you get to be alive and aware at the same time, which is kind of wild, when you think about it.

It’s not always easy. Some days I do it well, most days I don’t. But the point is: we have the option. The quiet power to decide how we move through the world.

Here’s a list of what I noticed this past week, my water, in all its little everyday moments:

• I woke up frustrated that my teeth hurt because of my Invisalign trays (definitely my own fault for not wearing them consistently oops). But it made me pause and remember how lucky I am to have access to that kind of care in the first place.
• Someone was really excited I’m coming to visit their city. So grateful to have someone who loves me that much (And if you’re reading this, hopefully I’ll see you soon!)
• A text from a friend brightened up my entire day. It made me realize the phone isn’t the problem, it’s what or who is on the other end. I’m really grateful to have people who put a smile on my face, no matter what (Even if they’re on the other side of the country).
• I walked into my dad’s office and caught a whiff of the heater’s smell. It reminded me of winter, and how much I actually love the cold. (He’s always cold, that’s why the heater’s on.) I’d forgotten that smell, and even though it’s weird, I love it. And I love winter and all the things that come with it.
• I was sitting on my porch, reading my book, when I saw the neighbor’s kid riding his bike up and down the street. I forgot how much I actually really like biking, and how small moments like that can bring back parts of childhood.
• I lost my phone while going to the dentist, and instead of getting annoyed, I felt kind of relieved, like I finally had an excuse to slow down and do other things without distraction.

These moments usually slip past unnoticed, but they’re the real texture of life, the “water” we swim in daily. This isn’t about forcing gratitude or pretending life is perfect and great all the time. It’s about waking up to the stuff that’s already here, the ordinary that’s actually extraordinary.

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Honestly , writing this reflection was harder than I expected. Every time I rewatch “This is Water”, I feel like I’m re-learning the same lesson. I don’t think I have the full words for it yet, maybe I never will. Hence why this may have seemed choppy-er than the rest of my articles. Maybe one day I’ll rewrite this reflection as a kind of progress check. But for now, this is where I’m at. Hope something in here resonated.

What’s your water?