Reconnecting with wonder

How to unearth the joys of curiosity, awe and epiphany

You can listen to and watch this piece on TikTok, Instagram or YouTube.

***

When I was about seven, I found fragments of a buried relic in our front garden. Outdoors was my favourite place to be. Few things could fascinate me as much as an army of ants marching up a skyscraper-scale plant stem, or a butterfly painted in impossible colours. The garden was the realm of foxes, mice, treehouses and icicles. It was magic.

My big discovery began one evening, with a single piece of porcelain under the bushes. It was just the tiniest chip of potential, but I knew immediately that I’d struck on something important. So I searched for more. I dug with my bare hands for hours, hungrily turning up piece after piece as the light faded.

It was winter at the time. The ground was hard and my fingers numb, but I persisted, stacking the broken bits in a pile so that I’d be able to put it all back together in the morning. And when I was called in for the night, I was met by a look of abject horror on my mum’s face. I had no idea that I’d hurt myself amid all the excitement, but with the lights on I could see that my hands were covered in cuts and would soon be painful once I warmed up. It was worth it, though. Anything would be for hidden treasure.

That night, rather than fall asleep, I drifted into a state of wonder. My little mind churned up a kaleidoscope of possibilities, all cobbled together from the cartoons I’d watched and the books I’d read. Maybe I’d found a priceless antique that would make my family rich. Maybe it was something magical: something a genie might emerge from, or something that would enable me to cast spells.

Daylight simply couldn’t come quickly enough. And as soon as I woke up, I threw my wellies on and ran to the bottom of the garden to continue with my mission. Then, there it was — in all its dewy morning glory — the broken pieces of a ten-year-old 70’s kitchen sink.

Now, this might sound like an anticlimax to you, but it didn’t feel like one to me. This was still my discovery and being too young to place any value on money or worth, I was just as excited about the sink as I would have been about anything else. Where did it come from? Who put it in the ground, and why? My parents, understandably, were less enthused by the hole in their garden, but they couldn’t quash my enthusiasm. I’d found a hidden thing. I had unearthed a story.

We don't need to lose the wonder of the everyday 

When I first remembered and re-engaged with this memory as an adult, I was working full time as a therapist, and I realised that the same feeling of discovery was alive in my work, too – that I was still piecing together mysterious bits of hidden treasure, and that every session had the potential to fill me with that “first piece” sense of wonder. 

It struck me, as I wrote an article about this, that I was still digging up kitchen sink dramas. The stories that whisked me away each day in the office were by their nature very much of the everyday. And yet, no matter how often I witnessed a person — eyes closed and emotional — relaying their unforgotten childhood stories, I still found myself utterly taken in by their narratives.

• The terror of the first day of school

• The shock of being struck by a parent

• The panic of getting lost in a supermarket

• The pain and hurt and ongoing shame of being neglected or bullied, humiliated or belittled…

To be absolutely clear, I'm not saying these stories ever felt ENJOYABLE. But they were meaningful. And full of potential, too, because it's via those most vulnerable conversations that healing happens.

In other words, I'm no longer unearthing a broken sink, but I still – in my more adult pursuits (first, practising as a therapist and now working on Betwixt) – get to engage with my personal experience of the wonder and magic of piecing things together. 

The reason I'm telling you this is that to actively view my work in this way feels deeply important. I think that when we choose to look at our lives through this kind of lens, we can not only stave off or minimise the threat of drudgery and boredom, but also keep our minds open to new and different solutions – making way for innovation, as opposed to getting stuck in our ways. 

Reconnecting with wonder

So my question for you is this: 

How can you reconnect with your childhood feeling of wonder? 

Follow these three steps and see what comes up: 

1. Identify an early memory of wonder, awe, curiosity or a similar emotion

If there were a certain memory that comes to mind for you when you consider your experience of this emotion, what would it be? 

Or, if you find it hard to connect with the feeling of wonder, see what comes to mind when you consider linked experiences such as awe, curiosity, amazement or just the good old-fashioned buzz of interest?

2. Use this memory to remember what it is that makes you tick

When you can remember an experience of this kind, take a moment to analyse it, to pull it apart so you can work out what it was, exactly, that fired you up and drew you in at that time. You can do this in your head, journal about it or talk it through with someone. Or you might just know the answer immediately.

3. Identify your adult versions of this experience, action or process 

Finally, look at your adult life and wonder about the parallels. Where and how are you still doing this thing (or things) in a different, more adult way? And how can you make the most of those situations? 

I would love to hear about your childhood and adult experiences of wonder, so please let me know in the comments.

---

Thank you for reading!

We’re Hazel (ex boxer, therapist and author) and Ellie (ex psychology science writer). We left our jobs to build an interactive narrative app for self-awareness and emotion regulation (Betwixt), which you can try on Android here and on iOS here.

---