Remembering Wonder

How to reconnect with your childhood self through nature.

Many of us don’t feel “burnt out” so much as… dulled. Like the part of us that once noticed, lingered, and felt easily uplifted has gone quiet along the way. It’s almost as if there is a numbness to our days and we are longing to feel uplifted again. Adulthood seems to have made everything feel heavier, the world seems louder and day-to-day life is more urgent. There is something stirring deep down inside that says “I know it doesn’t have to be this way, but I don’t know how to not do life on autopilot”. Modern life can make you feel less-than, unproductive or disengaged. But what if you are not missing motivation or productivity at all, but the very sense of wonder that once made the world feel alive?

As adults, we often believe we’ve outgrown that way of being. But wonder isn’t something we age out of. It’s something that quiets when life becomes too fast, too loud, and too focused on outcomes. And nature, just as it did when we were younger, remains one of the gentlest ways to remember what it feels like to slow down, notice, and feel connected again.

For me, and likely for you as well, that sense of wonder lived most vividly in childhood, often outdoors. It showed up in the small, ordinary moments such as watching clouds drift across the sky, tracing patterns in the dirt, collecting leaves without needing a reason. Time felt slower because we weren’t trying to extract meaning or improvement from the moment; we were simply inside it. Nature wasn’t something we visited or used, it was the backdrop of our curiosity, play, and presence.  So why do we feel so disconnected now?

Wonder wasn’t about nature being impressive, it was about being fully there.

Why We Feel So Disconnected:

You didn’t lose your sense of wonder because you grew up. You lost it because the world taught you to hurry. We live in a culture of productivity, over-scheduling, and constant input. Life becomes something to optimize, measure, and improve. And when everything becomes transactional, wonder quietly slips to the side.

Nature: The Bridge Back:

But there is a way back to wonder, through nature. And it doesn’t have to be with grand experiences such as retreats, hikes, or even waiting for the perfect weather. Nature meets us where we are, not where we think we should be. Instead of assuming nature demands your attention, allow it to simply invite you in - to the ordinary, the overlooked, the small and the slow moments in everyday life.

Let's reawaken your childhood wonder in a gentle way. There is no journaling, consistency or performance required. If you feel ready, here are a few gentle invitations you might experiment with:

• Go outside with no goal and notice what naturally pulls your attention

• Let yourself linger with one small thing, a leaf, a shadow, or a sound

• Follow curiosity instead of structure

• Ask childlike questions silently: What is this? What does it remind me of?

  
  

As an adult you will want to start seeking meaning, benefits or an outcome when you are trying to reconnect, but if we are trying to reawaken childhood wonder in ourselves, we must remember that children simply experience. Wonder returns when we stop asking ourselves “Am I doing this right?” or “Is this enough?”. Simply approach nature without the need to heal, fix or improve yourself.

You Haven’t Lost This Part Of You

Children feel lighthearted not because life is easier, but because wonder nourishes them in small, steady ways. It doesn’t have to be exciting. Wonder is simply soft attention, the kind that calms the nervous system without effort. For adults who feel burnt-out or dulled, wonder can become a form of rest. A quiet reminder that we belong to the world, not just our responsibilities.

You haven’t lost your sense of wonder. It’s still there, waiting in the small moments, in the ordinary, in the overlooked, in the next breath of fresh air.

A Gentle Invitation

If you’re craving a slower, more natural way to come back to yourself, I share gentle reflections like this in my newsletter. No urgency, just small reminders of what’s always been here.