The Lost Art of Wonder

Somewhere along the way, many of us stopped noticing things.

Not that it was intentional, but because modern life has a way of pulling our attention in a hundred different directions at once. We move quickly. We scroll endlessly. We hurry through ordinary moments while thinking about the next thing waiting for us, or something/someone left behind.

And yet, wonder has a strange way of waiting patiently for us to return to it.

I think of how wonder often lives in quieter places. It’s not always big and bold and undeniable.

It is in the golden light that slips across the kitchen floor in the early morning, casting tiny, hummingbird shadows from the decals on my windows. In the sound of rain on the roof at night, gently tapping out its lullaby. In the first fireflies of summer. In old trees, candlelight, birdsong, wildflowers, and the smell of books that have been loved for many years.

Wonder is not always loud or dramatic. More often, it arrives softly.

As a child, I noticed everything. I think most children do. But I especially loved nature. A patch of moss could become an entire world. Clouds became stories. The first snowfall, its silent, glimmering magic covering the world. Even ordinary walks held the possibility of discovery; a wildflower to pick or an ant hill to investigate. Entire unseen civilizations thriving alongside our own.

Somewhere in adulthood, many people lose that sense of enchantment. Life becomes schedules, responsibilities, stress, headlines, noise. We begin measuring our days and sometimes our worth by productivity instead of presence.

But I do not think wonder ever truly disappears.

I think it simply waits beneath the surface, like a hidden spring.

Lately, I have been trying to make more room for it again. All my life I managed to hold on to the same wide-eyed wonder I’d had as a child. But life can be hard and seasons can challenge us more than we could ever prepare for.

I am reclaiming my wonder, my child-soul. Not through anything grand, but through small acts of attention and intention. Opening all the windows just to hear birds in the trees, singing their happy songs as they greet the morning. Lighting candles in the evening instead of relying only on harsh overhead lights. Making art with my hands. Watching the seasons change, REALLY watching them. Looking up at the sky more often and pulling forward the feelings I had as the young girl who wondered how high the clouds could drift and if we could go that high too.

These things may seem simple, but perhaps that is the point.

Wonder does not always come from extraordinary experiences. Sometimes it comes from learning to truly see ordinary life again and treasure all its gifts.

I believe the world changes us when we stop paying attention to the now, to the small moments that make up a life and pass by quicker than we’d ever dreamed. When everything becomes rushed, practical and “grown-up”. Something within us begins to dry out, precious, little joys all but forgotten. But, for me beauty, nature, creativity, and quiet moments restore something essential. Something that breathes life back into my weary soul.

Not escapism.

Remembrance.

Wonder doesn’t have to end with youth, and it surely should not.

I encourage you, friends to reclaim your joys, whatever they may be. Reignite your spark and let wonder take you over.

I think it is something sacred we were never meant to lose. ✨