There is a common saying about the ability to “stop traffic.”

Not from a policeman’s whistle, nor from an orange-vested construction crew member’s hand signals, the phrase is invoked reverently as some sort of mystical power that temporarily freezes everyday business or busy-ness.

We can consider an extremely stunning woman, cum Marilyn Monroe, as having the ability to stop traffic.

Urban or slang dictionaries say this attribute belongs to someone or something that is extremely “attractive, surprising or interesting.”

The implication is that stopping traffic is a rare occurrence.

As I was driving home after performing errands the other day, I noticed that several cars, only a couple hundred feet ahead of me, had stopped for no apparent reason.

Their engines idled as they sat in the middle of the street while geese walked across the pavement. Apparently, this unscheduled stroll was behind the standstill.

Of course, I pulled over so I could take a photo.

How many were there? At first, I saw two, then I saw a few more checking out the recycling bin at the end of a nearby driveway. There seemed to have been around eight.

I quickly found myself transfixed by their curiosity and playfulness and entertained a flow of questions that ran through my head.

Where did they come from? Are they lost or confused? Are they safe?

I recognized them as geese by their size and silhouette. I know geese are very social, quick to bond with other animals. Supposedly, goslings will form bonds with the first object they see after they hatch.

Even though they’re categorized as waterfowl, they’re famous for flying with their buddies in V formations and are pretty comfortable walking about on land.

Were they residents of the small pond in front of a nearby senior housing complex? Did they migrate south in October and started returning to their northern homes early because we’ve had an unusually mild winter?

Were they safe walking around on the street? Could they get out of the way of an accelerating car? Has global warming done permanent damage to their migration patterns?

I noticed my own, seemingly unending, stream of questions. The thoughts in my mind represented traffic in a different sense. No sheet of metal surrounded any thought, nor did any idea or impression honk a metaphorical horn to keep from getting tangled up or mis-directed by another thought entering its path.

Nonetheless, just the idea of an unexpected sighting of wildlife on Touhy near McCormick stopped the traffic in my head.

Isn’t that what mindfulness is all about? Pausing the unconscious flow of thoughts and images in order to really pay attention to what’s happening? Stopping your habits to be fully in the moment?

I noticing that it was some special part of me that was aware of observing my own mind; the part that had the thought — Oh yeah. There are geese on the boulevard. This layer of me that observed my mind led me to smile.

We can stop traffic at any time, the traffic in our minds; habitual or automatic thoughts or sensory details.

Stopping street traffic might come easily to geese who are simply unabashed about being who they are and following their curiosity no matter who is watching.

But anyone can stop their own thought traffic. Taking a pause to simply BE does not have be a rare occurrence.

Stopping traffic in your own mind, and choosing to be fully present, is no small thing.