Live the wonder

Mind of a child, for the first time

My alarm breaks the silence of the inky dark and I force myself to roll out of bed. Before I check my phone, before I search the covers for my glasses, or sneak into the bathroom without waking my husband, I pad my way over to the window and draw back the curtain.

The red and white Christmas lights illuminate the front porch with just enough glow to answer my question.

Snow?

***

I swirl the colors on my watercolor palette and watch as they blend. Paint like a child, I think of Julia Cameron saying. Embrace a childlike wonder, a glee and freedom you felt before the world told you art and life had to look a certain way.

I think of myself as a child, how painting usually ended in tears. How I made my mom draw the pictures for my book reports. How I enlisted a senior boy to sketch my poster for the Mother’s Against Drunk Driving poster contest. How I won 3^rd place in that contest and accepted the award while gulping down guilt.

Childlike wonder?

I think of my own children and their balled up and crossed out art projects. I see it in them too: the frustration that reality never lives up to the picture in their head.

I keep swirling the colors on my palette. Dab tiny strokes across the page.

Can I really let go?

***

I plan my exit strategy to a T. Bikini for easy removal. Two towels held up by my dad and husband so I can strip off the icy swimsuit. A quick towel dry and shuffle into a dry fleece shirt and snow pants. Shake the sand from my toes, then socks, rain boots. Parka over all of it for the walk back to the car.

I did not plan what to do when I hit the water. Tiny snowflakes flutter by almost imperceptibly. Blink and you’ll miss them. Lake water in the low 40s. Pine trees dusted with snow.

I give a quick wave to my family and hear the countdown.

No time to think or second guess.

Three…two…one!

The whistle sounds and I shuffle and almost stumble as I dive in.

I don’t register cold, just shock, transition. I had wanted to stay in longer, but the participants around me are already running back to shore.

I stand up and my hands burn, the air feels scalding, not cold.

But my breath doesn’t catch. I’m awake and alive.

I did the thing! I moved toward the discomfort on purpose! Quite literally plunged in and came out the other side.

Do I have the resolve to stay?

***

When I think about the wonder of a child, I wonder what happened to me. I remember building my blocks in numerical order and ripping up book reports because my drawings didn’t match the cover. I remember sending myself to my room and crying over missed spelling words. There was lots of love in my house, snuggles with Mom, Dad singing the Star-spangled Banner and Take Me Out to the Ballgame before bed, siblings to fight and play Ninja Turtles with, but my mind gave way to dark wonders and what ifs more often than delight and glee. I spent more time battling the questions in my head than living the life in front of me.

Wonder for me as a child

• I wonder if those fireworks will come down and burn me

• I wonder why my drawing never matches the picture

• I wonder if my grandmother is going to hell

• I wonder if my heart was pure when I said the sinner’s prayer

• I wonder if I should let Jesus into my heart again, just in case

• I wonder if my stuffed animals hate me because I didn’t rotate them

• I wonder if Mrs. Rossi knows my mom helped with my book report

• I wonder if God knows I snuck a taste of my brownie before I finished my broccoli

• I wonder if Ms. Wallace knows I looked at Kayla L.’s paper for that times-table answer

• I wonder if Mom knows I tricked Cameron, my little brother, into touching the electric fence, again.

• I wonder if everyone knows, I’m bad bad bad

This is new territory for me, being sad for that little girl, and stewing over the ways worry and fear, rules and shoulds, stole moments of joy from my childhood. I was so relieved when I was diagnosed with OCD that it never occurred to me to be sad that I had OCD in the first place.

I’m starting to feel a little sad. I wanted to quit writing about OCD altogether. OCD stole so much already, will it steal my writing, too? Do I have anything else to write about? What’s real Aly and what’s just the me made in defense of OCD? Can they be disentangled?

Alongside the questions and the sadness, gratitude springs up. Not cheap, toxic positivity, but a real awe that I am not where I once was. My brain is enticed by curiosity and delight, where it was once driven by fear. My wonders these days sound more like the wonders of a child without OCD.

Wonder now

• I wonder what life would be like in a new city

• I wonder what a cold plunge would feel like

• I wonder if I can write a memoir

• I wonder if I’ll like my first Idaho winter

• I wonder where the day will take me

• I wonder if my kids would like rock climbing, tap dance, cooking class

• I wonder what a day without my phone would feel like

• I wonder if I’d enjoy rock climbing, tap dance, cooking class

• I wonder if I’d like to watercolor

• I wonder what would feel good to do today

To be alive is to accept the good and the hard and the annoying paradox that you often can’t have the good without the hard.

I’m learning to let the sadness and the gratitude wash over me like a dusting of snowflakes, like swirling watercolors, like a sharp plunge into a frigid lake. I’m learning to leave the questions unanswered in my head and live the wonder instead.

***

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Alive."