The Pursuit of Wonder
I have learned there is a terrible irony in never growing up. I keep doing the same things, and my friends get old and fade away. Gone are the days when my peers have the time and interest to drop everything and cruise backroads for snakes because “the air feels right.” Now they have kids, demanding jobs, and mental health issues that were all absent in their prime. So, although people will often applaud my childlike wonder and even go so far as to say they wish they could still do the things I do…I find myself alone.
I’ve wrestled with this notion of recruiting new friends to accompany me on my sometimes dangerous pursuits of wildlife. My wife is always after me to go hang out with this or that person she’s seen me talk with online, but she just doesn’t get it. “Hey, person I barely know, do you want to slog around a stinky marsh at night for venomous cottonmouths?” That’s not the ideal icebreaker when trying to make new friends.
I also deal with the guilt of no longer wanting to invite some of my old friends because they’re no longer interested, available, and way too risk-averse. Life has a way of beating us all down. Frivolous pursuits become one more thing to add to the heaping pile of stresses. I feel guilty even burdening them with providing a negative response. I know if they could, they would. They just can’t anymore. Life moves on. In many ways, it feels like it’s left me behind.
Most people my age grew up a long time ago. Settled down, had kids, and put away those childish pursuits. I’m thankful that I have a wife that understands my need for seasons of “walkabout.” The fact that we don’t have children probably makes my foray into the wild less of a burden on our household. My wife can always tell when I begin to get that wanderlust. I start to get restless, and it usually manifests as extreme burnout and depression.
My mental health begins to spiral out of control, and I get an overwhelming urge to quit everything. It can feel like I’m drowning in a purposeless pursuit of only making a living and nothing more. Ironically, the cure to all that ails me is usually a simple walk in the woods. Yet, that seems to be the hardest thing to do solo these days. I spent most of my teens through my early thirties doing just that. I hiked alone multiple times a week. It’s never ideal to be alone. My need to explore has always trumped my need for safety. Now, it seems nearly impossible to leave my yard some days. That’s still something I’m working through.
When was the last time you wrung creek water out of your socks after exploring the muddy banks for the wonders it held within? For most people, I imagine the last time they intentionally flipped stream-side rocks for salamanders and crayfish was around middle school. I’ve spent a lifetime wondering why we somehow age out of our childlike wonder. A childhood friend was reminiscing about how we used to play in the creek behind their house as kids and then said, “Well, I guess you never grew out of that.” I took that as a huge compliment. I now know that the ability to keep doing these things is a privilege.
In elementary school, I would bring Fowler’s toads held against their will for show and tell. They were housed in terrariums made from Mt Olive pickle jars with holes jabbed into the lid. A handful of moss and a well-positioned stick would serve as substrate and enrichment for the unwilling amphibians. I loved sharing my passion with the other kids. When I pulled a snake out of my pocket or when I got to talk about my creepy crawly friends, I would briefly climb out of obscurity among my classmates.
Fast forward a few decades. I got to spend time doing live animal shows in schools and churches as my profession. As it turns out, that’s not a very lucrative business model. Each time I saw those kids’ eyes light up, my financial woes faded away. Their passion was infectious and reinforced my own. Wonder was an act of worship. It aligned me with something bigger than myself. Sharing that wonder gave me purpose.
The older I get, the more I realize that my love affair with nature is only a partial picture. What really charges my aching soul is sharing that love with all of you. I love teaching people about what exists all around them. Thankfully, I still get excited at the most mundane reptile or amphibian found in my backyard, but it’s amplified when I can share it with someone else. It’s exponentially better when that person has had an aversion to said animal, and I can show it in a new light that allows them to appreciate its place in the ecosystem. The wonder we all had as kids still exists within us. We are just jaded by paying bills and measuring “achievements.” It’s time we knock the dust off our arthritic knees and follow a stream until we find something that makes us gasp in awe. The pursuit of wonder is a valid quest. You’ll likely learn more about yourself than what you are pursuing.
Speaking of Wonder…Check out my children’s book “The Wonder Of It All”
It’s a strange thing in general to make friends as an adult but there does seem to be a lack of “grown ups” who prioritize mystery, wonder, and adventure. Keep searching.
Have you ever thought about being a science or biology teacher? Another great read!!