The other day I heard someone say, "Have a wonderful day. " The man sounded so cheerful and earnest. I knew that he truly wished that the person he was speaking to would have a great day. However, I wasn't so sure he actually meant for the other person to have a wonderful day, though maybe, of course, he did. Had he intentionally used that word?
How often are our days full of wonder? How often do we allow ourselves to be pleasantly surprised with the beauty around us? How often do we let a sense of surprise sneak into perception?
Every year of my life, I see more things. I experience more things. I meet more people. I am increasing things I know, and decreasing things that I don't, which is by and large, a great thing. But it means that it becomes harder and harder to come by things that feel novel.
I'm trying to remember to look more deeply, to stay quiet, to listen, to inhale. As I sat in the dark fields on Friday night, as I drove into work this morning. I'm teaching Fahrenheit 451, and it's funny how often the books I'm teaching start to seep into my everyday. I don't want to be a part of the culture Bradbury feared. I don't want to stop paying attention because if I do, I'm afraid of all the things I might miss. There are things full of wonder out there.