Where is the Wonder

Now that the school year has started, our chaotic pandemic summer is now settling firmly into a routine again. It’s not exactly my favorite way of doing things, but with time, everyone in my family is adjusting and finding their way. Surprisingly, it’s not too different from the routine we had before the pandemic. Then, it was pretty standard: kids to school, things to do, kids home from school, playtime, homework, dinnertime, bedtime, rinse and repeat. The things I was able to get done when the kids were in school varied, but I was busy enough to miss them once my kids were sent home last March and the rest of the year stretched out in front of us like one long, dark tunnel.

Now, it’s similar: kids to school, things to do, kids home from school (or out of their rooms during the school days at home) playtime, homework, dinnertime, bedtime, rinse and repeat. I’m not so busy in between if the kids are home (they always need one form of help or another), but I am too busy for a lot more than I thought I’d be; and now it’s autumn.

The leaves are starting to fall from the trees, we’ve had to run our furnace a few times, and the sweaters I’ve been longing to wear are now shaken out and ready to go. The squirrels in our yard are getting fatter, and our family is planning out what our “Pandemic Halloween” festivities will be instead of the usual trick-or-treating. (We’re still planning on loads of candy being present.)

But even so, I’m not fully present for any of it. There’s so much that I’m missing. It was a feeling that was difficult to articulate, but I figured it out the other day: I was missing wonder. Don’t misunderstand: I’m thankful to have a routine again, but that routine has now taken the space in my mind where all of the marveling used to be. Instead of taking a few extra minutes to notice how slowly the oak leaves outside are changing (by gradients, little by little, instead of a mad rush), I’m worried about whether my daughter can find her Kindergarten paperwork before she logs on to the computer to join her class virtually. Instead of taking a deep breath of the downright chilly morning air, I’m gulping down coffee and checking to make sure multiplication facts are memorized.

There is a beauty to that, too, honestly. There is a comfort in coffee, in the times tables, in needing to be somewhere at a certain time (even if it’s on a screen). There may be comfort, but…that doesn’t mean there’s wonder.

In Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, a young girl named Clarisse, raised in a stressed and chaotic world that moves a million miles an hour lives a countercultural life: she allows herself time to slow down and look at the world around her:

“I sometimes think drivers don’t know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly,” she said. “If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! He’d say, that’s grass! A pink blur? That’s a rose garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows.”

Like the world Bradury paints for his readers, our lives also move incredibly quickly.  Information, whether it’s the news, a new schedule, an uprooted routine, is thrown at us, and before we have any time to process it, we’re forced to leave it aside and keep going until it’s all different color blurs. We don’t stop to wonder about anything anymore.

But Clarisse does, mentioning something beautiful to the novel’s protagonist:

“Bet I know something else you don’t.  There’s dew on the grass in the morning.”

What do you see in the morning? In all-of-the hullabaloo of your current pandemic routine, what are the things you notice – really notice – first? Is there room for an extra 30 seconds as you start your day to notice something you normally don’t, or room for taking in an awesome sight, even if it would seem ordinary to someone else? I am going to try to make a real effort over the next few weeks to try to give myself some time for wondering. I’m hoping it will bring some much-needed peace and calm to these very hectic days. Maybe you’ll give it a try, too!

Wishing you a peaceful autumn season filled with hope, joy, and a refreshed sense of wonder!

Until next time, be well!
Christy

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About the author: Christy Gualtieri is a freelance writer specializing in pop culture, religion, and motherhood. She lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and two children. Christy also blogs at asinglehour.wordpress.com and tweets @agapeflower117. You can  follow her here on eTalkTherapy for inspirational articles and different perspectives as they relate to good mental health.

There Be Dragons

I have friends with honest-to-goodness magical powers: they are parents who can read books without falling asleep! I am still working hard on mastering that particular skill; and in an effort to get better with it, I made a goal for myself: to read 20 books in the year 2020. I have friends for whom this would seem a ridiculously easy goal – they would read 20 books in just a few months! But thankfully, because the world is a rich tapestry, we are not all alike and so I can set the goals that work for me.

And I’ve found some good reads this year, ranging from short story collections to non-fiction work, and have particularly been drawn to classical works for children. Books written a hundred years ago – and even earlier – were written so differently for them, and it’s no wonder – kids went through many difficult trials that little ones today are rarely exposed to. It’s not uncommon for children in classic books to deal with heartache, deep loss, and tough physical work before they become teenagers; and even then, from there it’s pretty much a straight shot to adulthood and all that entails.

I wish I had read so many more of these books when I was younger, because I know I would have liked them then. Anne of Green Gables, for example; if I had read it as a kid, I know I would have loved this spunky, bright, lovable little girl; but I read it as an adult, so the first thought I had when I was introduced to her character was: “Well, there’s no way she’s not going right back to the orphanage!”

But one series I picked up this year that I really fell in love with was The Chronicles of Narnia. Have you read them? I’m about halfway through the series, and I’m convinced it’s the perfect series for anyone – kids and adults – especially in a year that is so fraught with difficulty. It’s escapism at its finest: recognizing difficulty and trouble, but not succumbing to it.  There’s pain, and many battles; but there’s also hope and strength. The books were written by C.S. Lewis, but another author, G.K. Chesterton, once wrote:

“Fairytales don’t tell children that dragons exist.  Children already know dragons exist. Fairytales tell children that dragons can be killed.”

We know in our lives today that dragons exist, if you don’t see them right outside your door, you can easily find them on your phone or computer. But dragons can be beaten. It was an important lesson then, and it’s an important one to remember now. For a little extra encouragement, maybe pick up a classic children’s book to share that with your kids – or even yourself, if you need to remember it.

Until next time, be well!
Christy

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eTalkTherapy - talk with a counselor online

About the author: Christy Gualtieri is a freelance writer specializing in pop culture, religion, and motherhood. She lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and two children. Christy also blogs at asinglehour.wordpress.com and tweets @agapeflower117. You can  follow her here on eTalkTherapy for inspirational articles and different perspectives as they relate to good mental health.