May we never lose our sense of wonder

I’m two weeks into being 31 and already I can tell you that turning 30 was much more exciting than turning 31. Thirty is a milestone, while 31 is just another year. The pressure of being the ideal high-functioning, impeccably balanced adult is a social construct than I refuse to acknowledge, yet why does it have it’s hands so tightly around my neck? Add being newly unemployed plus my already-too-loud inner critic, and you’ve got the perfect ingredients for a “What is my purpose in life?!” existential crisis.

I turned to tarot for guidance, as per usual. The last few years I’ve done a tarot card spread for myself on my birthday and this year, the message was loud and clear: return to the things that brought you joy as a child, and you’ll find yourself coming “home” to your authentic self. I followed the advice with a visit back to Floyd the week following my birthday.

After a rainy Monday morning car ride (with cat in tow), I spent last week in the countryside at my childhood home delving into my creativity and immersing myself in the little things that I abandoned once practicality hit me like a slap in the face as a teen and young adult. Pressing flowers, playing piano, catching crawdads in the creek behind the house, going on walks in the forest. These were bountifully paired with the usual must-haves of any visit home: card games with mom, jam sessions with dad, and deep conversations about life by the fireplace—wine in hand—with both of them. I felt my spark slowly returning.

Thursday afternoon, I stopped by Red Rooster Coffee to grab cappuccinos for my mother and me before we met up with my dad at the brewery—more Floyd list items I have to cross off every time I’m in town. As I was waiting for my order, a young boy standing with his father asked me and the gentleman next to me if one of us wanted to play rock, paper, scissors while we waited for our coffees. The man beside me scoffed and declined, but I was more than happy to oblige. What a simple, sweet, fun inquiry. What a whimsical, no-stakes way to spend the few minutes between ordering and receiving your coffee. I couldn’t help but think of how sad and boring the other man must be to say no—what did he have to lose? (BTW, I won 2-zip and still have a guilty conscious about winning against an 8-year-old.)

I found myself replaying that moment while I drove back to Richmond on Friday afternoon. Why are we so quick to decline fun and whimsy? It’s something we need more of, especially in this day and age. Lee Ann Womack’s first line in I Hope You Dance is “I hope you never lose your sense of wonder.” That song came out in 2000 and I think we have WILDLY lost the plot. The kid in Red Rooster was up to something.

Children have endless curiosity with boundless imaginations. As a kid, everything is new, the world feels vast and vibrant, and the possibilities are infinite. They have no regard for society’s “shoulds” and arbitrary rules. They don’t know or care about being “good enough.” The only ducks they care to have in a row is in duck, duck, goose. Perhaps my tarot reading was less about returning to the things I did as a kid and more about how I felt.

Unfortunately, I can’t revert back to being naive, but I can find ways to infuse my day to day with a little more fun, whimsy, and curiosity. In conversation, I try to ask more questions—to hold a little more space for interest, wisdom, and connection. I continue to carve out time in the morning for my daily NYT games. I pick flowers on my walks through my neighborhood. I drink my water with a fun straw. I’ve started to doodle and sketch in the margins of my journal. I now keep bubbles, a deck of cards, and Mad Libs in my tote bag at all times. I also ask my friends to play rock, paper, scissors with me while we wait in line for coffee.

These won’t solve all my problems, but they sure do add a heap of joy to my life. They add whimsy. They add smiles, which we all need more of (I’m convinced it’s impossible to blow bubbles without grinning). Since my chance encounter with that little boy, I’ve been intentionally making space for small joys, small curiosities, and small moments of wonder, and somewhere along the way, I’ve started to feel like myself again.