Wonder...
When I was small, maybe 6 or 7, I padded off to the bathroom in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. Sleepily traversing the short hallway in our tiny 2 bedroom house, I caught the reflection of something shiny under the Christmas tree that hadn't been there when my brother and I had been tucked in. I vividly remember the sense of excitement and wonder as I realized, "Santa's been here!" Being a good girl, I went back to bed instead of to the tree, a mid-1950's version of sugar plums dancing in my head.
I don't imagine that one ever recaptures the wonder of a child at Christmas, but there have been a few moments that came close. A decade or so ago I was at an opiate treatment providers conference in Orlando, of all things. A colleague and I took an afternoon to visit Disney World, and rode "Peter Pan's Flight" on a lark. At the moment the pirate galleon crested Wendy's bedroom window, gliding over London's skyline, I gasped, as thoroughly enchanted as a nine year old. I was flying!
In early recovery, so much filled me with awe and gratitude. The simplest of acts seemed unbelievably sweet or difficult or magical for the fact of doing them sober. My senses were coming back to life, a sensation both terrifying and exhilarating. Being an active participant in the world rather than skulking around at the edges brought a joy I hadn't realized was possible.
What about today? I've written about this before, but as the holiday season is upon us, the questions come back to me. Where do I find wonder today? How do I avoid turning into the jaded old-timer who's seen it all, and then some? What does it take to be enchanted with the holiday lights in the neighborhood, or the lights coming on in someone else's eyes?
These days, I am most often moved to reverence in nature. Nature, and Radio City Music Hall, where I recently visited for the first time. I was captivated by the beautiful auditorium and the sense of connection to both my mother's generation and to the hours I'd spent watching the Rockettes synchronized kicks in movie re-runs on TV. Wonder has a component of child-like innocence that I am unable to conjure by wishing it so. I can ready myself, but grace, however you define that, cannot be scheduled. I can walk into a beautiful theater, or along a forest path, but what I experience depends on the moment and my willingness to be aware.
It does seem that being open to wonder, cultivating pleasure in simple things, is a discipline. That really isn't an oxymoron. I can drive home from work narrowly focused on the steering wheel and whatever drama of the day is running through my mind, or I can take a breath and look up at the amazing November sky. I can go for a run in the morning and notice absolutely nothing, or I can consciously turn my attention to the trees changing colors and the sound of rain on the pavement. I can listen to the delight in a child's voice when they see snow for the first time, or watch a person new to recovery shake their head with amazement as the simplicity of recovery suddenly makes sense.
Whatever you celebrate this season, be it Hanukkah, Christmas, Solstice, Kwanza, or simply the movement of the winter sky, are there moments in your life that inspire awe? Where is your focus, right here, right now? How can you, how can I, step back from what only seems to be important to appreciate the many wonders of this life?
Ahh Jeanine, once again you hit a tender place for me. I am finally, at 58 years old, learning to look up and around. It shows me options that I don't see when I am focused narrowly on the next step. My commute nowadays is starting in dark and ending 15-20 minutes later with the light and I find myself really enjoying that change. I don't know that it qualifies as wonder, but walking around in the woods that are here on the compound is a pleasure - as is sitting by the pool and reading my latest book at lunchtime. And I was recently in a place where I was able to walk and do all the things I don't get to much here due to our security posture, along with attending meetings with more than 5 people. That was a huge joy - along with meeting up with old friends. The perspective of noticing these things and appreciating them also helps me avert my drama queen instincts...life goes on and I have choices on how to react. And it all comes back to the simplest choice of all for me, not to drink a day at a time. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteNice to have the image of you walking in the woods, so far away...
DeleteJeanine, I loved the "grace cannot be scheduled" comment and, yes, I agree, although as you so wisely point out I can be ready and willing --- too often I am stuck in my mental meanderings that have nothing to do with where I am, who or what I'm looking at and I miss the simple awe or wonder at my feet. Thank you for the reminder --- the Santa Claus mystery that enchanted you at 9 plus the Disney World experience --- I am a huge fan of Disney Land and Disney World and I think it particularly great for sober alcoholics to give ourselves permission to be kids and those two place are perfect for practice. Now I try to be a little bit of a kid every day wherever I am....to be open, the child who doesn't know rather than the adult who knows it all (or thinks she should). Since sobriety I can simply be and let all the "shoulds" fall away. My greatest pleasure during the holiday season is to sit in a room with no lights but the holiday lights and to just let myself love the colors and the softness of the scene. The beauty truly is I'm fully awake, sober, and deeply grateful for the reds, greens, whites, yellows, and blues. I sit ready and willing for wonder if it wants to touch me. Happy Holidays or Feliz Navidad as they say down here in Mexico!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the reminder to sit in the dark with only the holiday lights... Yes to fully awake, sober and deeply grateful.
Delete