It is not as important to know as to feel.
Rachel Carson
We enjoy an annual two weeks on the island of Maui, same time of year, same location, even familiar faces on the beach. I have given up fantasies of climbing Mt. Everest or photographing penguins at the South Pole. Kahana Sunset, on the north shore of Maui, is my vacation destination.
Mornings, before the sun is too hot, I set out for a long walk along the Honoapiilani Road –north one day, south the other. Some mornings I am kept company by an audible book, and this, trip against a backdrop of crashing waves, I am listening to The Power of Wonder by Monica C. Parker. In the book, she sites social scientists and medical experts to define Wonder and then argues how living with Wonder one’s life is not only enriched but extended. Having recently passed my 80th birthday, I can’t think of a better time of life to visit what space I have for Wonder. Is there anything new under the sun? Does a Taylor Swift concert make me drop my jaw in amazement? I had a Presley, then Beetles youth – Elvis held my hand when I was thirteen. I have “been there / done that.” Nonetheless I too want to experience Wonder and foster the habits that might refresh Awe, if not in something brand new, then in experiences renewed.
Wonder, awe, surprise, amazement are often used interchangeably, but what they have in common is a felt experience not expected, an experience that stops our quotidian existence to express, “Whoa. What’s That?” It is a pause that can be minute or monumental, a comma or stanza break in our narrative. Here are my Awe-some moments of recent Maui days. There is that beautiful sunset – every day so far. Coming from cold, rainy Seattle, how can I not Wonder at such beauty? Looking up from my beach book this morning, I spot a companion — a slender arched gecko poised as a sculpture on the tree trunk beside me. It surprised me, and I tingled with glee as I pulled out my cell phone to capture its pose.
On my walk, white wings flew into sight – a graceful egret lit on an adjacent shrub. it paced as gracefully as a back-home heron walks on tidal flats. I stopped walking to examine its movement. A wave-like thing itself, the bird seemed to flick forward then back, its body undulating in grace. Until it stopped, a sudden arrest, its beak thrust into the hedge and returned erect again, a small gecko its flailing victim. Yes, everything must eat. Nonetheless, I had two awesome sightings in a day, and one ate the other!
I returned to questioning the values of Wonder. Do we need new experiences to awake us to wonder, and is that the value of travel so we can see the flora and fauna of places unlike home? Surely those summer sunsets over the snow-peaked Olympics are as beautiful. From my Hood Canal home I have watched eagles swoop down to Quilcene Bay to fetch a flashing salmon as large as the eagle itself before bringing the meal to a stick-built nest high on top of a Douglas fir.
Monica Parker argues that we must be open to Wonder, for Awe doesn’t fall on closed senses. When we take adventures we open the doors, we expect surprise. We pay for surprise. I wish I could share one of my most memorable photos taken about forty years ago. The second day of a European trip, we are in Amsterdam with our daughter, then a teenager, who did not want to go with us. She begged to stay at home so she would not miss out on a few weeks’ summer fun with friends. In the photo, our daughter slumps on a museum bench, legs wide, elbows on knees, cheeks buried in her clenched fists. Behind her looms the original Van Gogh Sunflowers. She had closed the wonder door. To be fair, as an adult mom she organized yearly vacations on this continent and beyond so her children, now in their twenties, seek out the wonders of art, music, and travel.
Even at eighty, open to learning goes on. I am among a generation that is making popular neologisms such as Lifelong Learners, acknowledging that folks well past their school years are seeking ways to learn. Wonder is a fundamental requirement for learning. After being surprised into a Wow moment having watched a whale breach the waters on the horizon, I am eager to learn more about this annual migration. I can be an autodidact (one of my favorite words),and hurry my walk back to the condo to do an internet search about whales offshore in Maui. I find many up-close photos of whales and their calves along with explanations of the entire migration, so that my next Wonder moment with these magnificent mammals will fill with educated Awe, like getting the whole cake with the frosting.
I will go so far to say that Wonder is contagious. I recall my days teaching high school English. After many years teaching required novels, it was hard to find something new in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, yet I wanted my students to be engrossed in this pivotal American masterpiece. Did the fault lie in my inability to ignite my own Wonder year after year? When I finally adopted Toni Morrison’s Beloved and taught it to my senior English students, I had more questions than answers. So much I admired in the book but didn’t completely understand. The students sensed my questioning engagement. Teaching that novel was one of the most successful of my career. I didn’t feel as if I was teaching so much as learning in community with my students. Morrison’s book instilled me with a wonder my students joined.
I am barely scratching the surface of Awe and Wonder as I share with you my photos and positive experiences of opening up to the surprising and often unknowable natural world. Yet today I return to my piece after a conversation with a local Hawaiian who survived the recent, devastating Lahaina fire. Her condo in a compound of condos was saved. Her neighbor’s unit was destroyed. The ravishing fires took lives and homes and streets of one of the most historic towns in the state. “I never knew fire could move so fast, or snatch one place and not another,” she explained.” For her it remains a memory of Awe and Wonder. Just as we were finishing our conversation, the afternoon wind picked up, blowing our hair, making helicopters of dropped leaves around us. “The wind frightens me,” she said. “It was windy when the fires started. I never imagined such wind.”
Mary's Room With a View 