Before motherhood, I question how much of my life tilted toward wonder. My twenties focused on “achieving,” amassing abbreviations after my name and climbing a literal ladder that really, in retrospect, had no clear destination. When I worked as a lawyer, my energy gravitated toward busy, the kind that drags you into quick sand. My feet never quite found solid ground. Giving birth to my daughter at age thirty-two, I still continued holding on to the life that I thought held the key. I juggled my legal life and the early days of motherhood. It felt like a basketball spinning on my finger. Momentum created enough for the ball to rotate a few times, but then with very little warning, a sudden drop stopped any progress.
I am not certain when it happened, where I discovered wonder, but I know my daughter is wholly responsible. From her joy in discovering a new word to the sheer excitement of receiving a note from the tooth fairy or the ho-ho-ho of Santa, her capacity to immerse herself into now hit me hard. Often times, as we drive to school she will point to the sky and look to the clouds as a new language.”Look, Momma, there is a dragon. And over here, Momma, I see a butterfly.” I look up and make out the shapes she describes. My glee is muted, but witnessing these moments with her, I refocus my efforts in learning her language.
Again and again, her world is filled with an avalanche of pink flamingo moments. Even the most mundane becomes dazzled with wonder. The steel monkey bars, the acorns lying in the gravel, or the possibility that a rock might crack open and hold a home to gems all captivate and layer her sense of wonder. I started to ask, “Did I ever feel the texture of wonder before witnessing all these moments with my daughter?” The word that kept repeating itself was, “No.”
I am unwilling to equate every moment with the same wonder that my daughter possesses. Perhaps I know too much. Or over the years, my cynicism sometimes colors my perceptions. But I am learning to take my internal telescope and move toward footing that feels more comfortable. Perhaps this is the first time I’ve walked on solid ground.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Children have the most innocent way of filling our lives with magic and beauty. Children bless our lives in so many ways.
I love the phrase “the texture of wonder.” Well said, and so true!
Welcome Paula!
I am glad my words resonated with you. My daughter definitely provides a new definition of wonder.
She is such a joy and I’m always so happy when you write anectodal musings from her viewpoint because you spread the joy and innocence. That is one of the many gifts of children. Your little one has a sparkle in her eye and a smile that lights everything around her. How blessed you are!
Barbara,
I appreciate your generous comment. My daughter always expands my views and alters my perceptions of what I believed before. Having a chance to bask in wonder is a great bonus of motherhood.
I love your comment about “solid ground.” Perhaps I need to retitle my piece. Thanks for your insight, Barb. It is always a pleasure to see you in my space.
And Rudri, I was thinking about your post title, “Walking on Solid Ground.” We have enough of solid ground as adults, don’t we? I say why not flit about with fairy wings and imagination or step lightly on flower petals and stardust? At least every now and then? It’s good for our souls.
Beautiful and so true for me as well. Having children has opened my eyes to the world again.
Beautiful when the mundane becomes dazzled with wonder 🙂 I feel it with my children as well. 🙂
I know what you mean, Rudri. My son is the same way and sometimes will scream and come get me to look at something as simple as the sky or an interesting pattern that he found when he was shredding our papers. It’s touching, and every time it reminds me of just HOW much I miss in life. It’s humbling. I know that sense of wonder will one day begin to dissipate, but I hope that he retains more of it than I have.