💎 An Invitation to a Shiny Object Day

what if ADD stood for living with Attention Delight in our Day? (letter 267)

Hallo fellow learn-it-all 👋

Greetings from den Haag, the Netherlands 🇳🇱

I just ate a salad for breakfast, which I would think is a sin considering there are scrumptious breads of all kinds I could eat, but I just went for a run in the rain. A health kick is in the mix. I’ve now been in Europe for one week and started with a road trip across the Netherlands to Germany with a car full to the brim with Vermets and suitcases off to a beautiful wedding. I’ll include the elegant photo at the bottom in the photo of the week.

Now, let’s dive into letter 267 from a learn-it-all. Enjoy!

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❓Question to think about

Is ADD such a bad thing?

🖊️Writing

While I know that ADD can bring real challenges, and I’m not trying to minimize that, I’ve been wondering about how beautiful it can be to occasionally follow our attention, wherever it wanders in the wild, sans screen algorithms. To see what we might discover when we let delight lead the way.

What if we borrowed the acronym for a moment and let A.D.D. stand for something positive for a change?

Attention Delight Day.

A day where wonder wins.

Where we step off the productivity hamster wheel and follow what glimmers. Where rabbit holes are followed in real life. Where the periphery of what sparkles in the corner of our eye is followed.

I’m not suggesting we live like this all the time, but maybe, just once in a while, we could permit ourselves to follow the shine.

Yesterday, I wandered through the diplomatic town of Den Haag with my parents, trailing curiosity like a balloon on a breeze. Stopping. Starting. Wandering again. No straight path. No need for one. Dad would comment on the house straighteners, shiny varnish paint on Dutch wooden doors, and glassy windows. My mom and I would agree.

We passed NATO security barricades, newscasters, and neon vested police on horseback. Trump was in town, with his ‘Beast’ vehicle and slept in the Dutch Royal family’s palace. Though my family’s gaze was more enchanted by the elegant birds gliding through the pond in front of Parliament. A cormorant holding its breath for minutes on end. A meerkoot swimming right up to us, flicking water off its feathers and exiting the pond with its webbed feet. A pair of goslings fluffed and waddled along the edge, totally unbothered by international politics.

We bought smelly Dutch cheese from a glib vendor who claimed without flinching that it was the best in Holland. “Made from the happiest organic cows,” he insisted, and I believed him. The kind of belief that only comes from being charmed mid-sample. I’ll try it again today after gifting it to my cousin.

We spoke Dutch to strangers in a language café. I met a curly-headed cutie from Zwolle who chuckled when I asked where he was from. Dad escorted me to the unisex water closet (WC) to show me the silly comics of a mole asking animals who pooped on his head.

We walked into my favorite thrift store: Episode. I touched a woolen crocheted rainbow vest, dad laughed at me, and we lingered. Dad found me red nautical scarf that felt like a memory from Omi I hadn’t yet made. My new-to-me G-Star jeans, softened by someone else’s story, now get to live a second life on my limbs, purchased at a smithereen of the retail price.

We then wandered into the next store of treasures, but this one actually had shiny new ones, rather than used: a jewelry store. Mom tried on gold necklaces, without sincere intention of buying before her wedding anniversary.

There was one practical errand we ran: transferring US dollars to euros. I paid a painful 19% to the gods of foreign exchange to get euros. But even that felt like a minor toll for a day otherwise unburdened by productivity.

Our reward? Pannenkoeken huis. A pancake house.

Oh, the pancakes. Baby poffertjes smothered in strawberries and powdered sugar. Warm, pillowy, gone in minutes.

Dad bought a hat from a sidewalk store that made him look like an extra from Peaky Blinders. Mischief in wool form. We all agreed it suited him.

Later, I flopped horizontally onto the bed to rest my eyelids. When I woke up, it was dinnertime.

We shared stories of childhood at the terrace restaurant, Dad hunting for snails in Indiana, and Mom coming out of her shell in college. Dad got hot water and snipped sprigs of rosemary, Spanish and English lavender from the plants for our tea. We befriended the waitress Robin, hearing about her family's trips to Miami Beach in America as a child.

Somewhere between the birdwatching, pancake eating, and horse-poop dodging (thank you, police on horseback), it hit me: this was a Shiny Object Day.

15,000 steps. One errand. The rest? Wonder.

Wide-eyed. Aimless. Open.

The kind of day where we stop shaming distraction and start celebrating discovery.
A day where delight leads and deadlines dissolve. Where you follow what glimmers, and end up somewhere you didn’t expect but are glad you arrived.

Like a thrift store scarf that feels like a memory from your grandmother.
A side street that turns into a house party.
A restaurant with a waitress named Robin who knows the best dumplings and gifts you Queen Wilhelmina peppermints as you leave.

We ended the day with tiny scoops of ice cream perched on upside-down, rainbow-sprinkled waffle horns. Then, I took a warm bath.

This is my invitation to you:

💫 Schedule a Shiny Object Day.
🐾 Pet a dog.
💍 Try on jewelry without having to buy it.
🌿 Let your mind meander.
🛏️ Get horizontal when your energy wanes.
🕊️ Bore yourself staring at birds.
🗣️ Speak a language imperfectly.
✨ Let delight be enough.

🎧Listening

Hand-pan music is nice nowadays.

🔍Word to define

Cynefin: a Welsh word meaning "habitat," "haunt," or "place of belonging”

Thank you to

Tanya Lynch

for introducing me to this word. From her piece A Place Where One Feels They Ought to Live:

It's pronounced "kun-ev-in," and like so many Welsh words, it holds depths that English simply cannot reach. Cynefin means your place of belonging, not just where you live, but where your soul recognizes itself. It's about rootedness, identity, and that profound sense of being exactly where you're meant to be. It encompasses not just the physical place, but the community, culture, and heritage that surround it. It's the habitat of your heart.

🌟Quote to inspire

“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

📸Photo of the Week

🙏Shoutouts

• to my Dutch and American family that have made this past week such a ball and a biscuit.

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I appreciate you reading this!

If ideas resonated, I’d love you to press the heart button, leave a comment, reply to this email, or reach me at vermetjl@gmail.com.

Keep on learning 😁

Dank je wel 🌺

Jen

PS - in case you missed last week’s letter on a summary of my eight months in Southeasy Asia

PPS- if you’d like to read my favorite letters, the best way to encourage my work is to buy my book on Amazon here.