The Second Look

My husband caught my Second Look in Netanya, Israel

As I think of it now, it was probably the beginning of an obsessive compulsive trait. I was five or six—and whenever I went out with my parents, if I’d see something interesting—a display case, or a toy, or a pretty picture, I’d touch it once. But for some inexplicable reason, before my feet could move, I needed to touch it again. I never told anyone about this strange need.

Somehow, very soon and without my awareness, that tendency left me without a trace.

Or perhaps the trait evolved later in life. 

While I don’t need to touch things twice, whenever I visit a new place, or see something beautiful, I tell myself to take a second look, and make it last in my mind.

With the ease of smartphones, we can just as easily snap a photo. But when I stop myself, steady my eyes for a second and final look, it is not digitally stored, but it goes from my eye, to my mind, directly to my heart.


Obsessive? Perhaps. But I remember many places and things I’ve seen just by thinking about them once again.

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