As a student, I travel to campus to attend classes almost every day. I pretty much have a set routine. Five days a week, I park my car in the same lot and walk towards the building that houses my college classes. It’s about a five minute walk, and each day I travel the same path to my classes like clockwork.

To reach the building’s entrance, I take a shortcut over a rough patch of grass in order to place myself onto the main walkway. The walkway stretches on towards the campus building, and it is flanked on both sides by trees that make it aesthetically appealing. Each day I walk this path until I get to the building and rush inside to navigate my way to class.

One morning in November, as I was about to head off to class for a midterm, I received a call which informed me that one of my loved ones had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Upon hearing the news, I froze.

For a moment, it was as if time had stopped for me, like my brain and body were immobilized as I tried to process what I had just heard.

The voice on the other line started sounding muffled, and I could no longer understand what was being said. I mumbled a couple of words in response, hung up, and then started walking to my car – almost in a trance-like state.

There was no time to react. I had a midterm exam to take in 40 minutes. But everything was different.

Once I had reached the parking lot, I deviated from my routine. I did not begin walking towards class right away; I just sat in my car. It was raining heavily. Normally, I would fret about the weather and the havoc it would wreak on the condition of my hair once I was indoors. That day, however, I did not care at all.

I got out of my car and was transfixed by my surroundings. I took in the scent of wet gravel. I noticed how the rain was washing away some chalk that had been marked on the side of the pavement. I observed how packed the parking lot was becoming, and how there were so many different vehicles models and colors lined up side by side.

It only felt like a moment, but time flew by. I had 20 minutes left before my exam, so I started walking towards class. I was taking the same path that I had so many times before. Nothing about it had changed. Physically, the route was the exact same as it had been before.

But my thought process had changed.

When I reached the patch of grass, I did not immediately walk over it. Instead, I paused to take a long look at the dandelions that sprouted randomly across it. I contemplated how something so mundane could elicit such different reactions depending on perspective. In one case, some could view the dandelion as an opportunity, something to inspire hope by blowing on the petals and making a wish. While others could view it as a nuisance, something to be avoided for fear of allergies and hardship.

I continued walking, but I took time to observe my surroundings in detail. Once my feet landed on the sidewalk, I noticed the brown brick wall to my left. Squinting at the worn out wall, I discovered an incoherent sentence etched into it – something I had never noticed before. I actually looked at the trees on either side of the walkway and saw that they were now almost bare. I noticed how there were a couple of dried up leaves clinging onto the branches for dear life, being swayed this way and that by the rain.

I had reached the side entrance of the building. I pulled open the heavy glass door and sat down on the stairs in the nearby fire exit. I felt overwhelmed and exhausted. On the steps, I broke down. I allowed myself to fully process the information I heard on the phone.

Afterwards, I reflected on my experience and what it meant. I realized that the path I took to class each day was an allegory of my life. Life had been passing me by. I had always been so focused on arriving at my destination that I was merely existing rather than living through the process of getting there.

I paused and took in my everyday routine for its entirety. But the same path that I walked each day felt extremely unfamiliar to me. There had been no physical change to my environment. The only change that had occurred was within me: my thoughts and perceptions. Only because I was truly aware that day. Fully conscious and living.

I believe we view the same world with a completely different outlook after a fateful experience. The kind of experience that triggers a change in perspective and insight differs for each individual. It could be the loss of a loved one, coming out of depression, self-realization, falling in love, being betrayed, or parting from a friend. Anything that takes a toll on us emotionally, mentally, or physically. Once this happens, you don’t just go by your daily activities. You see things differently.

You don’t just get wet in the rain.
You feel each drop and you hear it bounce off the ground.

You don’t just brush off snowflakes that land on your jacket sleeve.
You admire each flake’s uniqueness and watch as it melts with the warmth.

You don’t just walk by trees.
You take in the chaotic array of tangled roots and rustled leaves.

You don’t just slow down.
You reevaluate your life.

A change in state of mind affects all that exists around you and heightens your awareness to it. The things that have existed prior to your experience but have never been noticed. It’s no longer about the beginning or end. The focus shifts to the in-between moments.

This transitional phase doesn’t occur just once. It will happen again and again and again.

And it will change you each time.