When I was 16 I was thrown out of a geography lesson for giggling. I was messing around at the back of the classroom when the teacher spotted me. Lifting his arm and pointing his tobacco-stained finger directly at me he boomed imperiously: “Get out! Get out right now and don’t come back until you’ve grown up.”
Big mistake. I took him at his word and never went back. And never would because I like to think I haven’t ‘grown up’ and decades later, am still messing around and laughing.
Some are born old yet others never seem to age or have an almost ageless quality about them. Take Unity, my lovely ‘old’ friend who despite being well in to her 90s, had an effervescent energy, a twinkling in her eyes and a lightness of being that you rarely see in anyone ‘grown up’.
Life to her was an endlessly interesting adventure. Her unbridled enthusiasm and open mindedness bestowed an almost childlike quality. She radiated kindness and curiosity. Keen to learn and even keener to share. I’ll never forget her introducing us to kombucha which back then, hadn’t really entered the mainstream consciousness.
One day she brought us a crumpled old carrier bag inside of which was a big glass jar with a mushroom-like monstrosity floating about in it. This gelatinous blob, a SCOBY she said chuckling, was the secret of her longevity and extraordinarily good health. Our horrified faces made her laugh even more. It looked truly disgusting. “Would you like to try some?” she said offering me a glass “It tastes a lot better than it looks.” and she snorted with laughter. Now that is the sort of ‘grown up’ I could aspire to.
There’s just so much joy to be had from seeing the world through the eyes of a child enraptured by awe and wonder. Yet as we age and get weighed down with responsibilities, we seem to forget to see things afresh. To keep asking questions, to take time out and use all our senses to explore.
“What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.”
Sometimes when walking my dog in the hills nearby, when I’m totally sure he won’t get kidnapped or run over, I stop and close my eyes.
What can I hear that I hadn’t noticed?
Songbirds, rustling leaves, the crunch of a frosted forest path or the gentle murmuring of bees in the summer, distant voices, a bark, a church bell.
What can I feel?
My feet planted firmly on the earth, today a watery sunlight on my face, wind lifting my hair and a chilly breeze nipping at my ears.
What can I smell?
Damp mosses, pine trees and wood smoke.
I marvel at the seasons and the changing light. And then notice things I’d never seen before. It’s a state of bliss, a sense of awe and wonder. The simple joys of pottering about with no deadlines, no responsibilities. And I’m both full of wonder and wondering. Exploding with ideas and enthusiasm.
I’d never thought much about this as a concept until I read this wonderful piece the other day in The Atlantic ‘The Quiet Profundity of Everyday Awe’ and it mentioned the idea of an ‘Awe Walk’ and how beneficial it is for us to just open ourselves to awe.
But I think we’ve lost the art of childlike curiosity and simplicity.
We don’t allow ourselves to daydream. We’re eyes down, scrolling our way through life. We don’t ask enough wide-eyed questions or wonder why and ‘what if’. And above all, we generally don’t giggle uncontrollably and laugh until we cry, especially when we’re not supposed to. But boy do I love it when that happens.
I caught the eye of someone on the tube a while back when a fellow passenger did something funny. We’d both seen it but everyone else was being grown up and pretending they hadn’t.
We both tried not to, but the giggles just erupted, each of us setting the other off. Tears rolled down our faces as we fought to regain composure. Two strangers revelling in the ridiculous. It was joyful. I’m so thankful I never grew up.
As I write this I notice, it’s time for me, and the dog, to get outside for our daily dose of awe and adventures. Tell me, have you ever had that sense of deep awe? Where you feel a sort of blending of consciousness and oneness with nature, other people and the vastness of the universe? Please share your thoughts below
Until next time, mind how you go x
Beautiful. Life affirming. x
Oh what a lovely article. Thank you, Sue - a reminder to look up, and notice the beautiful and the ridiculous. Swimming in the cold outside gives me the sense of joy and awe you describe. There's something so ridiculous about it all that it drives you to wild giggles after. I love sharing these moments with my bunch of like-minded odd-ball swimming friends too.