Five Blocks of Wonder
How playing tourist in my own town brought me back to now
Let’s clear something up right away: I have not mastered the art of being present.
I practice lots. But I’m definitely not a guru.
You've probably seen me mention I have a healthy dose of ADHD—the kind that can simultaneously worry about next month's move while planning dinner and remembering a conversation from 2017.
And throw in the fact that my landlord just announced he's moving back into my place (cue frantic box-hunting and the existential dread of packing my entire life into cardboard containers!), my brain has been anything but grounded in the here and now.
In fact, I caught my brain plotting a trip back to San Diego recently. The nerve! As if escaping physically would somehow free me from the mental chaos.
But I've found a little trick that brings me back to my body, and this moment, every time: embarking on a deliberate expedition as a foreigner in my own familiar landscape.
Because let's be honest, presence isn't just about plopping down on a meditation cushion and chanting "om" until our minds quiet down. Sometimes, it's about tuning in to the delight of everyday life that's right in front of us, a delight that often remains invisible until we choose to see differently.
So, my friend, come along as I take you on my playful experiment down Historic 25th Street in Ogden. I’ve strolled these sidewalks a hundred times, but this time I set out with a fresh lens—open, curious, and ready for a dash of magic.
Whispers from Beneath the Bricks
Fun fact: Ogden, UT has a surprisingly colorful past.
When the transcontinental railroad arrived, it didn't just connect Ogden to the rest of the country—it transformed the city into a magnet for maverick spirits, including the mafia and a healthy dose of... shall we say, entrepreneurial ventures that wouldn't make it into chamber of commerce brochures. 😉
Beneath the brick and mortar of Historic 25th Street, a network of basements and tunnels once hosted smuggling operations, illicit activities, and other unmentionables. Some folks even say these tunnels connected Union Station to the rest of downtown—a secret circulatory system pumping contraband through the city's veins.
Of course, Prohibition only made things wilder—because, as history has taught us repeatedly, if you tell people not to do something, you can bet they'll transform "forbidden" into "irresistible."
The Suspiciously Empty Federal Building
It was a gorgeous day—unseasonably warm for early March—and 25th Street was buzzing with life. The winter has been cold and dreary… and the weather was about to take another cold turn, so naturally everyone was out harvesting sunshine while they still could.
My expedition began at what explorers might call an "energy anomaly"—a federal building that seemed suspiciously empty.
I'd never ventured around this particular landmark before, and to be honest, I'm grateful I've never had a pressing reason to. The air was thick and formal, like bureaucracy made tangible. My chest tightened with each step, and a heaviness settled over me like an invisible cloak.
But this was an expedition, after all. Explorers don't retreat at the first sign of discomfort.
Circling around the building, I bumped into a security guard and asked what went on behind those walls. He explained that various federal agencies now occupy the space, but it used to be a federal courthouse.
Aha.
The revelation landed with the weight of all the judgments ever passed within those walls.
No wonder I felt so uneasy. There's something about courthouses that carries a certain gravity, isn't there? As if the building itself has absorbed the anxiety of everyone who ever stood before its bench, waiting for fate to speak.
I thanked him and moved on, my breathing shallow and my shoulders tense. Yet as I stepped away, I stumbled upon a curious little statue without a plaque or explanation.
Could it be related to the Mormon pioneers who "settled" Utah?
Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. But there's something strangely thrilling about coming face-to-face with a little mystery—an invitation, perhaps, to see what else hides in the familiar streets we think we know so well.
Makes you wonder how many untold stories are quietly waiting for us, right under our noses, holding their breath until someone pauses long enough to notice.
When Concrete Walls Begin to Sing
As I left the oppressive air of the courthouse behind, I felt my breathing deepen and my shoulders drop. The weight I'd been carrying—housing uncertainty and endless to-do’s—began to dissolve with each step toward what appeared in the distance as a splash of color.
Continuing my expedition, I found myself standing before a captivating mural on the side of a parking structure, just steps away from the federal building.
The moment I stopped to really look, time slowed.
Then stopped completely.
Picture a towering canvas shining in the midday sun, where swirls of teal, vermilion, and gold merge into a kaleidoscope of humanity. Silhouettes of young and old, each overlapping like reflections in water, invite you to peer deeper, as though they’re whispering stories of identity, resilience, and shared history. The hues and contours intersect, creating a collage of life that feels both celebratory and unifying, as if beckoning every passerby to recognize themselves among the faces.
Ogden is notably diverse—especially for a Utah city—and this mural radiates that truth with the vibrance of a thousand suns.
Standing there, I felt welcomed, as though I'd stumbled onto a bold visual anthem of unity. My body, which had been so tense moments before, softened into the present moment.
And yet, I realized I'd walked or driven by this spot more times than I could count without taking even a single breath to appreciate it.
How many other wonders do we unknowingly pass by each day? How many symphonies play while we wear invisible headphones?
Perhaps a simple willingness to slow down and see what's right in front of us can spark a sense of presence. Sometimes, all it takes to feel that connection is pausing, looking up, and letting ourselves be pulled into the art, history, and humanity quietly blooming all around us.
And as I finally tore my gaze away from that stunning piece and continued my walk, I ran into another mural—a relic from the COVID era, I found out.
The figures in it were standing a little too close for comfort, pandemic-wise, but I couldn't help admiring the same vividness and pop of color.
Suddenly, I realized murals were everywhere—mini bursts of creativity dotting the city like wildflowers after rain. This one simple expedition opened my eyes to Ogden's hidden art scene.
How many other surprises are hiding in plain sight, just waiting for us to slow down, look up, and rediscover the familiar with fresh eyes? What might we see in our everyday lives if we approached them with the curiosity of an explorer instead of the weariness of a commuter?
Small Business Sanctuaries: Where Stories and Flavors Converge
My wandering next led me through the doors of Gallery 25—one of those small businesses I love supporting on Historic 25th.
The moment I stepped inside, I couldn't help but smile.
This little gallery stirred up a sweet memory: the first time I ever wandered in, randomly, with my best friend while we waited for a table at a local burger joint. I'd just moved to Ogden from Salt Lake, still nursing heartbreak from my divorce and searching for a fresh start. Walking into this oasis of local art felt like stumbling onto a soothing balm for my soul—an unexpected sanctuary when I needed it most.
Gallery 25 spotlights more than 50 local artists, each with a distinct style, medium, and flair. I remember my first visit like it was yesterday—pure serendipity. Nothing beats discovering a hidden gem when you're not even looking for it.
Now, each time I stop by, I'm reminded of just how unexpectedly healing art can be… how it can take your fractured attention and gently gather it back into your body.
After catching up with a couple of the artist-owners, my sweet tooth led me down the street to the neighborhood chocolate shop, Lene Marie Chocolates.
They'd moved to Ogden about a month after I did—a funny coincidence that made me feel like we were both "newcomers" finding our way in a city with deep, complex roots.
Let me tell you, their chocolate might just be the best in the entire state. Their luxurious milk chocolates and nuanced dark blends make my taste buds do a happy dance every time.
I popped in hoping for a sample—shamelessly so—and I was not disappointed.
They offered me a new caramel, still in the experimental stage.
I tasted it.
Time stopped. In that sweetness, I found presence.
The silky milk chocolate melted on my tongue, releasing a burst of citrus that made me close my eyes involuntarily. My entire universe contracted to this single point of sensation: chocolate, caramel, citrus, bliss. The chocolatier beamed as she watched my reaction, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
She wasn't quite ready to start selling them yet, but my delight gave her the nudge she needed. I told her I'd have taken a dozen right then and there if she had them—and I meant it with every molecule of my being!
Before I knew it, I was heading off to grab a cup of coffee, pleasantly tired and carrying the sweet aftertaste of chocolate and gratitude. My little expedition was complete, and I felt light, liberated, and, more importantly, truly present.
No more daydreaming of San Diego. No more mental loops of all the to-do lists cluttering my brain. In that moment, I was simply here—in my own body, on my own street, soaking up every ounce of life around me.
It's funny how a bit of art, a morsel of chocolate, and a willingness to slow down can shift your perspective so profoundly. Even when life feels off-kilter, there's always something going right. There are so many small wonders waiting to be noticed, so many gifts hidden behind everyday corners, ready for us to open our eyes, take a breath, and truly see.
The Paradox of Presence: Finding Adventure in Stillness
What started as an escape from my moving stress had become something far more valuable: a rediscovery of wonder in the familiar.
My expedition along Historic 25th ended simply.
I found no grand revelation—just a quiet reminder that presence lives in small adventures. It's playing tourist on your own street. It's finally seeing art you've passed a hundred times. It's savoring that unexpected bite of chocolate.
Perhaps that's the paradox of presence—it requires both the discipline to stay and the courage to see differently.
Taking this mini-adventure restored my sense of "here and now," bringing me back into my body, my breath, and my gratitude. The very same streets that had felt ordinary now revealed themselves as extraordinary—not because they had changed, but because I had changed how I saw them.
And if it feels right to you, I'd love to challenge you to do the same.
The next time you're in your own familiar corner of the world, allow yourself to see it with an explorer's eyes. Look for the beauty, the whimsy, and the art that you've been walking by without a second glance. Your own expedition awaits, no passport required.
So I leave you with a question: What might you discover about yourself, about your world, if you took just one day to be fully present right where you are?
Because in the end, presence isn't about sitting still—it's about being open to the wonder that's already around you.
So when your mind is spinning with deadlines, decisions, and dreams deferred, remember: presence isn't waiting on some distant meditation cushion. It's here, in the chocolate melting on your tongue, in the mural you've passed a hundred times without seeing, in the moment you decide to be an explorer instead of just a passerby.
The greatest adventure isn't somewhere else. It's right here. Right now. In the simple, radical act of paying attention.
About Alex
I’m equal parts old soul and curious wanderer, a farmer boy at heart, and a writer whenever I can corral my ADHD. Ultimately, I write for those who crave rest in a world that never pauses.
As a political psychologist, yoga therapist, and integrative coach—anchored by both research and lived experience—I delve into questions of identity, connection, and wholeness, which are the foundation of my Substack publication, Life as I See It.
If you haven’t yet joined me, I invite you to subscribe for free:
OK, now you've convinced me that I really want to visit Ogden--and before you wrote this piece, I never knew it existed before, Alex! You did a fantastic job of bringing me in to the local culture, food, and art. Lovely.
What I love is how you opened this essay, too. In fact, I smiled, because while I journaled this morning, I used the prompt, "Now I understand..." And everything that flowed after that was about how I am learning that I don't need to travel to exotic places in order to find the seeds of invitation all around me. The truth is, being fully human and fully alive means that I am grounded and open to what is unfolding right now, right in front of me, and when I practice this well, I am always astounded at what inspires me.
Yesterday it was my daily trek around the neighborhood with Daisy Dog. I heard a Great Horned Owl! Couldn't believe it, but the unmistakable hoo hoo-hoo hoo sounded four times as we made our way around the street. And then I spotted a red-tailed hawk soaring in the open skies above us. I love the juxtaposition of a bird of prey gliding against a perfectly clear blue sky on a sunny day. There is something incredibly liberating about that sight.
And I didn't even have to leave my neighborhood to witness these.
I felt like I was seeing your world through your eyes as I read this. Thank you.
and btw - your use of the downward D energy in the line "your mind is spinning with deadlines, decisions, and dreams deferred," is absolutely brilliant. You make me feel how easy it is to get downed after a moment of uplifting presence...and that forced me to rebound myself back to the paragraph about eating the citrus bombed chocolate caramel! (I want one of those!)