In Iceland, I was overwhelmed by the immense emptiness; the harmonies in basalt black, ice white, glacier blue, moss green; the darkness; the ice; being alone in a huge landscape. But something else struck me. Everyone minded their own business.
I was a stinky driver, lurching through a crowded intersection in my rented manual Jimmy that died at least three times as I tried to shift. Nobody honked. Nobody. The man stuck behind me passed and I slumped, but I couldn’t help glancing to my left to see if he glared at me or flipped me off. He did neither. He just drove past me looking straight ahead.
While standing as a pedestrian at an intersection, I stared at a driver waiting for him to motion me one way or the other. He didn’t. He just waited until I made my move. I walked. He waited.
Passing on the sidewalk, there were no idle interactions. No one was unfriendly. Anyone would help if asked. It’s just that people seemed to keep to themselves.
Now, I should explain here that I have appointed myself hall monitor to the world. “Excuse me, the line starts here.” “There are other people ahead of you.” “You should be grateful to your mother for that chocolate, not crying for more.” Really, I am pretty embarrassing to be with.
I was mulling over the Icelandic acceptance, thinking it would be useful to adopt it into my regular life. Life would be much more peaceful if I weren’t worrying about everyone else following the rules. And, as these things happen, I was reading Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation and came across this: “One of the first things to learn if you want to be a contemplative is to mind your own business. Nothing is more suspicious, in a man who seems holy, than the impatient desire to reform other men.”
Yeah, okay. More work to do.
Contemplative Seeing 
awesome! I have so much to learn from you – thank you!