Recover the wonder.

Hi, y'all. I was just poking around my blog stats and noticed I hadn't written anything in awhile. Not because I haven't had ideas or time, but if you create at all, you know sometimes things have to speak to you before you get around to them. (Good thing I don't do this for a living or I'd starve.)

Yesterday I went out grocery shopping alone, since Mister was out of town on family business. I was trolling around the Aldi, scouting for hot deals on fancy cheese, and I heard a little girl singing. Loudly. My first reaction was GAAAAAAAHHHH NOISE, but then I realized the kid had a pretty nice voice for a 6 year-old. She was making up an alphabet song and only got as far as alligators and bears, but she kept singing.

While she was waiting for her mom to check out, the girl amused herself playing with empty boxes, arranging and rearranging them into different configurations, singing and chattering the whole time. Then she found a dime, and was pretty much over the moon. It was all a great wonderment for her.

And I thought, at what point do we lose that? When do we stop singing in public like we don't give a damn? When do we quash that childlike sense of wonder? When do we stop giving people random hugs and telling them we love them, just because we can? Not only when, but WHY?

Now, me, I do still sing in public. If there's some good jams on at the Publix, I'll sing while I'm shopping. I've also been known to dance around in the aisles. I mean, why should grocery shopping be a chore? Heck, more than once, Mister and I have sung in harmony to whatever song was playing on the sound system. We just flat out don't care. Ain't no law against actin a fool at the grocery. (The international grocery is especially fun when they play bellydance music.)

I've noticed, though, that when we perform for real, it can be a challenge getting people to participate. They especially don't want to dance, even though that's what a lot of that music is for. The adults will sit there and listen, but it's the kids who dance. Even at events where we have scheduled dances, it's a challenge to get the grown-ups on the bandwagon. Kids? No problem. They're all over it.

People. Y U NO DANCE? What is it you're afraid of? I promise you nobody cares if you look like a gawky ostrich, because they're too worried about themselves. If you feel like dancing, then GET UP AND DO IT. You're probably way better at it than you think you are anyway.

If you spend any time around kids, you know how affectionate they are. They'll just come right up to you and crawl in your lap and say "I love you" and they don't even have to be your own kids. Now, I'm not advocating that adults necessarily crawl into each other's laps (unless you're in a situation where that's appropriate - winkwinknudgenudge), but why do we have to be so reserved about letting someone know we care about them? Moreover, why are some of us scared to accept that someone cares about us?

I have an open heart as big as the universe. It's probably caused me more grief and trouble than my big mouth ever did. But I'm not going to waste it, and I'm not going to stop caring. (I tried that once. I was miserable.) I try to find the wonderments amid the chaos and drudgery of everyday life. And I won't lie - sometimes that's almost impossible. It seems like an extra challenge for the chronically depressed, especially when you think the universe is conspiring to hold you back. But even in the dark times, something amazing and wonderful will poke its little head out of the dirt. The trick is being mindful enough to notice.

So, little girl at the grocery, I hope you will always sing when you feel like it, and create things out of boxes and other seemingly useless items, and get excited when you find a dime. We cranky old adults need those wonderments. Heck, if we marveled more at the little things, or sang more, or danced more, maybe we wouldn't be so cranky.

Till next time - see if you can't recover your sense of wonder.