The lost art of wonder

How imaginative play and tadpoles can lead to a return to self (and inspiration behind piece #6 from The Space Between Collection)

It’s a special kind of magic to witness children embody improv like it’s their day job. Only it’s naturally who they are: undefined, imaginative, curious. 

I remember spending hours playing “witches” in the ravine, making potions and building secret lairs, leaping with gusto off of logs and across streams pretending I could fly.

I’d lose entire afternoons climbing trees pretending to be a stealthy adventurer as I’d scheme to steal hidden treasure from nonexistent villains. 

I’d sink my toes deep in mud puddles while making mud pies for my make-believe bakery, packaging them up for make-believe customers.

There were endless possibilities to the worlds I could dream up, using nothing but my environment. It was all pretend, but in those moments the make-believe was real.

Yet, somewhere along the journey from childhood to adolescence, imagination waned. Maturity became a reasonable excuse to leave new possibilities behind. Not participating in “activities for kids” became a point of pride among friends, as if sitting in circles picking at the grass while filling out personality quizzes from trashy teen magazines was superior to play.

Even so, unlike many of my peers, I never fully shed the raw, imaginative wonder possessed in childhood. Maybe because I grew up with enough exposure to being in nature that fun and exploration is an ingrained part of me. 

I remember there were times, often, when I was “too old” for imaginative play but desiring to participate anyways. I’d invite friends and adults to partake with me and be met with resistance and reluctance every time.

It would be fun I’d say. Couldn’t they see it would be fun?! 

My soul knew how liberating it would be to give ourselves permission to be uninhibited by the perceptions that kept us limited. But instead of leaning in, the invitation was cast aside. The accompanying RSVP: don’t be so immature. Don’t be so childish. I felt silly.

I believe to the depths of my core that returning to the carefree, lighthearted, imaginative play often lost in childhood is an important part of the solutions required to return to self. We desperately need to believe we can experience a world (even a make-believe one), where we feel empowered to make the rules in our life. 

When we feel we have the autonomy to respond to challenges by creating our own solutions, we’re invited to dream bigger than what currently exists. It’s there, that you’ll discover a life you love.

Now, I still love getting up close and personal to dissect the guts of squashed bugs (R.I.P.), I’ll be the first to shed my socks and shoes to cross a river for the fun of it, and I’ll eagerly dash through a field with my arms spread wide just to feel the long grass whip at my calves. 

And you can often find me sitting on logs in the forest, face lifted towards the sun. Much as I was this last weekend, grateful to be joined on a walk with S along the riverbank, pausing mid-step to scout for mud puddles I could plonk my rainboots in to. A small (okay, medium), dead branch caught my eye.

“ON GUARD!” I yelled, lunging down to grab it and swinging it upwards. “Grab a stick!” I urged, fervently nodding my head towards another, hoping I’d be joined in a spontaneous game of swords. He accepted! And for 5 delightful minutes we played, whacking each other and making up ridiculous commentary until our hands got too tired of grasping an imbalanced, far too long, fake weapon. 

Out of breath, we plopped down on either side of a little pond made from river overflow. Part of me wanted desperately to jump from my side to the other, intimidated by the distance but confident I could clear it. Intimidation and doubt got the better of me so I shifted my attention to a flash of movement in the water. A tadpole! Cool! I hadn’t remembered seeing a tadpole in real life before, just frogs. 

We spent 30 minutes losing ourselves in the water, watching algae sway back and forth with the current as more tadpoles ducked in and out. I peered closer. Bubbles! Clusters of bubbles sat on the floor of the pond, perfect and undisturbed. Fascination drew me deeper in to the world below the water.

I contemplated what other animals fell in to the amphibian category that weren’t frogs but couldn’t think of any. I admired the carefree nature of the vulnerable spermy creatures swimming around in a body of water all to themselves, not yet knowing what a threat felt like. How could they? It was so peaceful out here.

I looked back at the spot I previously contemplated jumping across, and I knew: I could do it. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Without a second thought I did it. Just like that, easily clearing the other side. All it took was 30 minutes connecting with the earth, nature, spirit and my perception in my abilities shifted deeper to truth: I can. I know. I know I can.

If this experience tells me anything, it affirms what I’ve known along: wonder is a superpower. And it must be cultivated, protected and cherished, or lost.

So, I audaciously reject the notion that imaginative play equates to immaturity and access to wonder needs to be barricaded behind fear of seeming child-like, accessible only to those below the age of twelve. 

I no longer shrink with self-consciousness when others roll their eyes, and I don’t feel silly at my efforts to have fun. 

Let the wonder reign,

Kate

P.S. - Here’s a partial sneak peak of piece number 6 from my new collection, The Space Between, releasing to the public on May 11. All subscribers (that’s you!) will have first access to view and purchase ahead of time.

P.P.S. - If you’re a paid subscriber, you’ll also get an audio recording of 6 micro stories - one to accompany each piece in the collection. These will be honest and humorous depictions of pivotal moments from my life told through the lens of a third-person persona.