Wonder: A Gift and a Dagger

It is so, so easy to write from a perspective of knowledge. After all, there is a power dynamic in this, right now: I am writing, you are reading. I am steering, you better be buckled up. I am in control, you are simply here. And thank you for being here, by the way! I appreciate you, and your readership. Your powerless, futile readership.

It is easy to write with authority, because by the very nature of being one who writes, I must be someone who has something to write about. It is a lot harder, I think, to write something from a place of vulnerability, honesty, and weakness. And yet, it is when we make ourselves vulnerable, we admit ourselves honestly, and we embrace our weaknesses that we can connect to one another deeply.

It is true for human nature, so it must be true for the nature of writing, too. Whether you like it or not, you, the reader, don’t want to read perfection. You want to read the flaws. We are flawed creatures, and we like to be seen by others.

Please stay along for the ride while I try to be honest about my flaws, my weakness, in a way that you might connect to and appreciate. In a way that I can conclude with a smile, not only for my weakness, but for what it has taught me.

The reason that I am a writer, if I can call myself that, is because I am a wonderer. One who wonders. I love to think, I love to daydream, I love to accept any random ticket aboard a random train of thought, and ride it from dusk until the next dusk - that’s longer than dawn.

For much of my childhood, this sense of wonder was pure joy. I was a kid. I made shit up. I played games, I told stories, I tried to amaze and enthrall whichever grown-up had given me the time of day. Now, as an uncle to several children of varying smallness, I love to see this same trait in them. It gives me an indescribably joy to see they have that same ability to dream as I did.

As I grew less small, this sense of wonder carried me through a significant, formative era which was less joyful. I was a boy in a midwestern suburb who lacked athleticism, confidence, and connection. My home life, while being mostly good, carried some trauma with it, to say the very least (and I do intend to say the very least, you nosy son of a bitch). I didn’t fit in. I had friends, but very little connection. I had activities, but very little passion.

I was lonely.

Loneliness is a hard thing, and something I still battle today. Even with a life that is sometimes too busy for my liking, I know the alternative to being too busy is being too lonely, and that is a darkness I run from. When I was little, I couldn’t run from it. So I wondered. I wondered and I wandered.

A pastime of mine started forming when I had a lot of pent up energy, and a need for distraction. So… I walked. No, I didn’t walk around my neighborhood (which is now one of my favorite ways to pass the time, actually). I would go in our living room, or our basement, or our backyard when the weather permitted. I would walk in circles. I would daydream. I would wonder.

It started with retellings of shows and movies that I loved. A lot of Star Wars, Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh, Spider-Man, Buzz Lightyear (no, not Toy Story; Buzz Lightyear had his own spinoff cartoon), Harry Potter, many more that I can’t think of in this moment. The nerdy stuff.

Then, I would insert myself into these stories: If I was a Jedi, who would I be? If I was a Pokemon trainer, or a Duel Master, which Pokemon/Duel Monsters would be on my team? If I was a superhero, what would my powers be? How did I get them? What would I do with them?

If I could escape, what else could be possible?

There was, actually, a way to escape… Video games. Here, depending on the design of the game, I would have some freedom to play as a character, possibly one that I customized, and walk around in a whole new universe with different rules than our own. Maybe I was strong and in control. Maybe I was confident, or had some skill which impressed people. Maybe I had friends. Maybe girls liked me. Maybe I was anyone but me.

Now, when you are a nerd, and a gamer, and a wandering wonderer, it all starts to blend together. Before long, my wondering stretched beyond things I had seen and became whole new ideas of their own. What if this one part of Gladiator met this other part of Avatar? What if these few characters from Super Smash Brothers were less cartoonish, and more dramatic, and they had a plot behind them? What if Harry Potter and Star Wars had a baby? What if Star Fox took itself more seriously than animated aviating animals?

You might think this is nonsensical rambling, it’s not. These were all recurring daydreams of mine. Each of them, in one form or another, has inspired ideas that I hope I can sit down and seriously write one day. And when you read them, and you might even think they’re good, come back here and pay homage to their stupid roots.

I was such a great wonderer. I think, at that age, it was the only thing I was really good at. And thank God I was, because otherwise I’d have nothing, no one, and no way out. At least I could wander and wonder.

Time went on. Eventually, I learned how to talk to people again, and I realized how a sense of humor works. I realized that, if I couldn’t be the team captain or the awe-inspiring hunk, I could at least make people laugh. I could be the funny kid, I was fine with that! That was more than I ever thought I’d have, at this small and short time in my life!

Then I grew. I grew a lot, actually. A growth spurt and some puberty gave me height and energy. Height and energy gave me more attention and some, not much, athleticism. This made me more confident. All of this all of a sudden, combined with my sense of humor, and I somehow became one of the cool kids. It happened, seemingly, overnight.

I don’t think I was grateful enough at the time when this happened. Probably because I might have been funny, but someone was funnier. I might have been tall, but someone was taller. I might have been athletic, but admittedly a LOT of kids were more athletic. I wasn’t ugly, but there were a lot of better looking kids too. Comparison is a thief of joy, and so I never appreciated the moment for what it was worth.

Regardless, the moment happened all the same. I wasn’t lonely anymore. And yet… I was still just as much of a wonderer as ever.

Any free moment I had - walking home from the bus, going to my room or the basement alone, a long car ride with short conversation, a class I wasn’t paying attention to - I was wondering. The same stories, either replayed in my head or built upon over and over again. I couldn’t get enough. It was fun. I was good at it.

This is the part of this piece of writing where I’m going to take a slight turn. See, the natural progression is to tell you about how all of these wandering wonders of mine inspired the countless bestselling novels I plan to write, and I am kindly giving you a glance behind my curtain of genius. But this isn’t a story about how wonder is purely a gift. No, look at the title. Wonder is not just a gift, but it is a dagger. A knife I’ve fallen on.

As I grew older, I kept (and still keep) wondering about these stories. From the dorky to the dark, the silly to the surreal, these stories are alive in my heart and will (hopefully) be alive on the page one day. I also started a different kind of wondering: A realistic daydream that, I think, many of us have.

I would imagine myself in a different scenario. When I was still in college, I’d imagine myself in a different major. A different internship, a different program, a different class, a different school, a different life altogether, all stemming from choices I didn’t make. A choice that, maybe, I should have made. A choice I wondered about, no doubt, but a choice I didn’t make. I wondered and I wondered, but I stayed the course.

“Stayed the course” is a bit of a stretch for this current argument. I did end up changing my major and transferring schools. I ended up pursuing new endeavors. I dove on opportunities that life gave me. I went for things. I still go for things. I am proud of that.

But, there were choices I wanted to make that I never did. Options I wanted to explore that I never did. Chances I wanted to take that I never did. I kept close to the path I was supposed to be on, because that was the smart thing to do. Why take a risk when the smart thing is to keep it simple, stupid?

Again, I can’t repeat this enough: I don’t mean to say that I never made any choice in life. No, I’ve done pretty well for myself, and I give myself credit for making some right choices just as much as I credit others for giving me guidance and opportunity. I’ve also had a lot of fun. But, I often question if I ended up where I was meant to be.

Now, even writing those words, I have a hard time fully agreeing with that idea. There is so much good to my life right now. I have amazing friendships that I might not have if not for the path that life took me through. I have passions and community that I might not have if not for the path I chose to walk along. I have had amazing, once-in-a-lifetime opportunities that have made me cry tears of joy.

I am grateful for the life I live. That doesn’t mean I’m done.

Just because I am not where I’m supposed to be doesn’t mean I am not grateful for where I am. Just because I am not where I’m supposed to be doesn’t mean I won’t get there soon.

So? What is in my way? Weakness. But, what weakness? The weakness of wondering.

A few hours before writing this, I was texting one of my best friends. I told him that I have been thinking lately about taking lessons to get my motorcycle license. But I lied to him. I haven’t been thinking about this lately. I have been thinking about this for five years. It’s all just been thinking; I haven’t signed up for a class, I haven’t shopped around or asked other bikers, I haven’t done the hard parts. I’ve only said, “I think that would be cool.” No doing, all thinking.

Thinking has held me back. Wondering has held me back. It is easier to think than it is to know. It is easier to guess than it is to research. It is easier to coast than it is to change.

It is easier to wonder than it is to do.

I have chosen to wonder more than I have chosen to do. I have chosen to coast more than I have chosen to change. I have chosen to guess and to think more than I have chosen to research and to know. The dagger of my wonderment has stabbed me more times than I can count.

I normally try to end my writing pieces with some lesson that I hope to impart on you. Writing from knowledge and authority, remember? Some sort of positivity, wisdom, or strength that I pretend to have as a writer.

I don’t have that right now. I have regret. But, with that regret, I have a choice. One choice is to wallow in that regret, wonder what might have been, and sit on my indecisive ass without any action to get out of the state that I’m in. It’s not a state that I’m unhappy with, but it’s maybe not one that I’m entirely satisfied with, either.

I could lay in that state, or I could choose to change. I could choose to do. I could choose to act, be disciplined, and make my wonders more than a what-if. Make my wonders an attempt. Not a guarantee, but a leap. I might fall, it might hurt, and I might be worse than I was… But if you’ve ever gone for something important, you know that the painful fall can sometimes make you smile more than the safe sideline.

I could choose to choose, is what I could do.

What does that mean? It doesn’t matter. My choice is mine, and it means what I want it to mean. I can make a plan, and I can choose not to explain it to you. I can take a risk, and I don’t have to justify it to you. I can set a goal, and you don’t have to agree with it. That’s me choosing, that’s me trying, that’s me boldly marching towards what I was born to do.

If I’m wrong, then it does not mean I failed. It simply means I am not finished yet.

So, with gratitude for the gifts that wondering has given me - the sanity, the dreams, the entertainment, and the goals to target - and the awareness of the dagger that comes with it too, I embrace my identity as a wonderer.

Will I be the wonderer who closes his eyes so I only see the dream world? No. That is a waste of wonder. Will I be the wonderer who opens his eyes, and chooses to strive for the world I imagined in my head? Man, I sure as hell hope so. Because if I don’t, then all of this weakness, all of this opportunity, all of these dreams have been for nothing. And I’m done going through life with my eyes closed, doing what I am supposed to do instead of what I was born to do. I might not know much, but I know that for damn sure.

Time to put this wonder to work.