Being an artist.
Both of my parents were artists, so I always thought of “being creative” as something that people just do, not some kind of special talent. I always knew how to draw, etc. without being taught, and could never understand how anyone can not be able to do it. The irony is that, as a child, I never wanted to become an artist. It wasn’t til I was in my 40s that I really started to get creative.
I also take for granted how I respond to classical music. I’m amazed that not everybody has the same response.
I went for a bike ride through the redwoods with a guy from Kansas. He kept staring at all the trees; I was worried he was going to crash from craning his neck like that. He kept saying “Wow, they’re so tall!” It was weird, because they weren’t any particular redwoods, not like the General Sherman or General Grant trees or something, they were just your average trees growing by the side of the road.
On the flip side, I was very excited after living out of the US for a while to come back to stores where there was always stuff on the shelves, that were open on Sundays, and were open after 7pm. And to be able to expect that the power would stay on almost 100% of the time, and the tap water would be available and not need boiling before drinking.
AT a place where I used to work, a coworker and I got into a discussion about Stonehenge. Is it a gigantic calendar? Is it sacrifical burial grounds? Is it a receiving station for alien transmissions? Was it built by giants? etc.
Then this lady who was originally from England entered the room and we asked her. She replied, “It’s not anything. It’s just a bunch of rocks.”