There is only one art of which people should be masters—the art of reflection.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I have nothing to write about. My life is ordinary, without event. This is just a story (or poem, essay, article). What do you want me to say? I’ve got nothing. Really. So argued countless students over my 40 year teaching career. And they spoke with sincere conviction: they couldn’t write because there was nothing of any relevance or significance to say. Nada. I did have students who practiced–and may have even mastered–the art of reflection, who were unwilling to shut the door on a life event or literary work before they reflected upon it, giving it time to percolate and resonate. As you might guess, however, these students were rare birds, their colors and plumage too bright for much of the world.

Reflection is more than drive-by consideration. You don’t look out of your window and, finding nothing initially interesting, drive on without even checking your rearview mirror. You don’t stay in your car at all. Instead, you get out, pocket your phone, take your shoes off and walk through the grass. Reflection really loves those who are willing to feel the earth beneath their feet and walk without regard to time.

Many of my students were drive-by readers and thinkers. They raced through literary works, only to find that at the end, they could offer little more than a plot summary. This happened, then this happened, and then this happened. And when asked to do more, some sheepishly shrugged their shoulders as if to say: What you see is what you get. Others were more direct and defensive: This is boring, irrelevant, a total waste of my time. And still others–the ones who were reluctant to make eye contact–fearfully confessed that I guess that I don’t really know what you want.

In his collected essays, English philosopher Francis Bacon writes:

Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider.

Those prone to drive-bys, however, are unfamiliar with weighing and considering. If they read at all, they spend their time on the surface of the work, reluctant or unable to push into the deeper reaches. The same is true of viewing and experiencing, all of which makes for empty writing, speaking, and–saddest of all–living.

Students aren’t alone, however, for adults from all walks of life are also prone to drive-by reading, viewing, and living. We blame our reluctance to weigh and consider on our busy lives. No time for even a whole cup of coffee, we say, as we rush to the next person, place, or event. And regrettably, busyness trumps reflection almost every time. Because busyness is a surface activity where others can see what and how much we’re doing. Reflection is a subterranean endeavor, which may be mistaken for lollygagging or wasting time. Its yields are not immediate, and, as we’ve been told, time is money.

Classrooms with helpless, uninvested students, political debates during which questions are never answered and statements never directly addressed, entertainment designed primarily for shock and titillation–all are products of a world without reflection. Of course, there are many more examples, and this is the real tragedy. We’ve come to expect the shallows and, as such, have forgotten how to swim in deeper waters.

Without reflection, we go blindly on our way, creating more unintended consequences, and failing to achieve anything useful, writes author and management consultant Margaret Wheatley. Going blindly on our way seems to be the way of it now. Because we claim to have no time and demonstrate no inclination to reflect, we press on without seeing ourselves and our world. And the consequences? At best, they result in passable essays and trashy television that we can take or leave; at worst, they take us all hostage through ill thought policies and practices.

In The Dubliners, Irish writer James Joyce writes:

He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a verb in the past tense.

Lest reflection become self-indulgence, we might consider stepping outside of ourselves, so that we can objectively think about ourselves and so that we might consider our lives as if they’ve already been lived. If we did this, if we lived at a little distance from ourselves, regarding our own thoughts, words, and actions with doubtful side-glances, we might have a shot at real reflection. For in doing so, we would have to look at ourselves and our lives as though they belonged to someone else. And then we might be more likely to ask the tough questions: Why did you do that? What did you think might happen? How did you think this might affect others? What do you truly want to do and say? How do you really want to live?

I recently worked with a group of middle and high school students. During my time with them, I admitted that I’d heard the same lament for years: I have nothing to write about, nothing to say. I confessed that I may have felt similarly when I was younger, believing my life to be altogether uneventful and ordinary. Still, I grew to see the small moments of my life as treasures. I grew to realize how significant their yields were. Through these moments and my subsequent reflection on them, I learned about what it means to be human and live in this world. These were small moments that mattered. But, I cautioned, it’s all in how you look at and reflect upon these things, people, and experiences. You recall them–months, years later–for some reason. What is it? Why do you continue to hold these moments as keepsakes? If you can reflect upon these questions, you may come to new realizations about yourself and your world. And, I told them, developing this kind of reflective practice may be the biggest treasure of all, for it will equip you to look upon your ordinary, uneventful lives, as well as upon literary works, news articles, social media posts, and more, with fresh eyes. What you see through these new lenses will astonish, trouble, comfort and perplex you. You won’t be the same. You’ll be a reflecter, someone no longer content to drive-by.

I can’t help but think that most of us may need a shot to our reflective souls. Some of us may even need a transplant. Whatever it takes, though, reviving a reflective spirit is essential if we are to flourish. We have to do better than be a drive-by people. Our world depends upon it in more ways than we can imagine.