ON WONDER

Maybe we should all start humming.

Photo by Maxx Gong on Unsplash

Inside my head and in my (other) writing lately, there’s a quiet melancholy once foreign to me that has wrapped itself around me like a sweater—a distant cousin that comes for a short visit and then moves in to stay. At first, its language is foreign and uncomfortable, but all at once, you are speaking a new, muffled dialect in unison. 

It’s hard to say when it began: a mid-pandemic flurry that snowballed into middle age, followed by an avalanche of war, destruction, and chaos in the wider world. 

To be less than morose in these times seems unfeeling. 

Last week, though, I chanced upon a spot of wonder in the woods. In vanity—and the pursuit of better sleep—I returned to my decade-long habit of hiking for exercise, something I’d all but given up as my kids outgrew the packs on my back and the will to want to join me in aimless, leaf-lined paths. But there, between the trees, was the dancing of light, the call of wild turkeys, the hum of songbirds, water bubbling beneath the ice—and God. 

A tiny fissure in the rigid armor of my constant steady: steady parent, steady worker, steady friend, homemaker, bill-payer, and member of the PTA. 

The light came pouring in. 

As if on cue, angels showed up one by one, in human form, a trail of voices. First, this podcast about curiosity appeared from the kooky and reliable sage Martha Beck. Next, a friendly chat led to this video by Steven Kotler on Flow State (a feeling I lived and worked in nearly constantly before kids). Later that week, this landed in my lap—a discussion with Maya Shankar about collective effervescence: a phenomenon that occurs when humans engage in like-minded elevating behaviors in groups: singing in a church choir, chanting in unison, cheering collectively at a football game, even thrashing and moshing along at a concert or in the audience of the Taylor Swift Era’s tour movie—creating a natural high. It’s a form of medicine or glee—inducing feelings of belonging and well-being that science shows can linger for months. 

Effervescence—I used to know that feeling. I felt the word in my body as I said it out loud: light, joyful. 

“For humans to flourish, we need to feel something sacred or special is happening in our lives.” Shira Gabriel, Ph.D., Professor of Psychology, University at Buffalo.

According to Gabriel, collective effervescence is a strong indicator of human flourishing. It’s linked to less stress and depression and a stronger sense of purpose or meaning, the kinds of feelings I regularly had pre-pandemic, when I deeply felt a part of a larger circle of life: a collective of mothers, of neighbors, of friendships—and a closer bond with family, too.  

I followed the thread.

Suddenly, I couldn’t stop thinking about singing. Once, there was so much singing: Singing in school and signing in church. There were the lullabies that put my son to sleep and the long country drives I used to take in rare moments when the kids were otherwise cared for, belting out Joni Mitchell on repeat.  

We stop doing these things when others are listening. 

Somewhere just after I’d turned the corner toward thirty, some narrowing, cynical editors (and more than one former boss) implied that the wonder and enthusiasm that floated me through my twenties wouldn’t work in this decade. It might not be appreciated, was their tone, by the higher-ups, I assume—or them. I was supposed to appear assured, confident, skeptical, even—of anything too wide-eyed and joyful. 

Only wonder and enthusiasm were my natural state (and all of ours, at one point early in our lives). Maintaining wonder wasn’t hard work; it was directly the opposite. My curiosity and openness also attracted wild opportunities, friendships, romances with people from the other side of the world (geographically or figuratively), and exotic trips to far-flung places. It walked hand-in-hand with a sense of magic and belief in abundance, universal goodness, and God. 

“If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder … he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement, and mystery of the world we live in," said nature writer Rachel Carson, winner of the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

If an adult is to keep alive her sense of joy and mystery in the world, she must be her own wondrous companion.

The snarky editors weren’t the only ones ready to beat it right out of me—or you. High-profile jobs, high-stakes deals, capitalism, commercialism, social media, and a free-and-steady flow of criticism on every corner of the internet are always on call. The hushing, the shaming, the canceling—show up in the wrong way, and the world will school you. Appear too joyful while another human is suffering—expect to be quieted. 

Witnessing the ondoing of others was enough for me.

Spiritual thought leaders have said again and again the human spirit can house both joy and grief simultaneously. Holding space for wonder doesn’t negate compassion—the opposite is true. When your cup is full, you have more to give.

So, how did living joyfully become shameful? When and how did we allow our curiosity to be squashed? And how did we, collectively, let wonder perish? 

This morning, I chanced upon the words of Mike Sowden, who writes

Everything Is Amazing

. His sheer enthusiasm flies off the page. I subscribed (a commitment I don’t take lightly) and bounced off a quick note in response to his welcome letter.

“The most gleeful intro letter ever!”

“Thank you! I show up with maximum clueless enthusiasm - mainly* (*Totally) because I have nothing else to offer,” he responded.

Maximum Clueless Enthusiasm—how free, how refreshing (and from a grown man, no less)! This joyful exchange with a total stranger—an apostle of wonder—flooded me with dopamine, the way catching the smile from a burbling toddler across the divide of weary subway riders used to light me up on daily trips around New York. 

You! I recognize the God in you, the smile seemed to say. I’m looking for more Mikes and burbling toddlers. 

This week, I started singing on my morning hike. There’s the voice of Joni Mitchell in my ear and then mine, ringing out into the woods with the turkeys. 

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say, "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
And they shake their heads and say I've changed
Well, something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

I felt my soul vibrate, my inner being well up and break free. 

Experts have linked singing and humming to health benefits from stress relief, improved mood, detoxification, disease prevention, and more.* Humming scientifically increases blood flow and relaxes the nervous system. 

Joshua David Webb, a Philippines-based yoga teacher versed in the yogic tradition of Bhramari (Sanskrit for bee) Pranayama (regulating the breath; in Sanskrit, prana means life energy;  yama means control) likens humming to the gentle buzzing of a bee. It slows down the nervous system from the inside out.  

The vagus nerve, the critical nerve that connects the brainstem to the body, affects everything about how we move through the world; it speaks to and gives commands to our parasympathetic nervous system (in short, it tells the body when to unwind). Since the vagus nerve passes through the vocal cords, humming or singing can activate its chill response.*

In Webb’s words, humming sends the message to your body that it’s okay to relax—you’re not being chased by a cheetah.*

Humming, of course, is just the beginning, but it’s a good start. The science is in; the *Rx is clear: Get out in nature. Breathe cold air. Soak in the forest. Walk on the earth in bare feet. Hum and sing. Seek wonder. Live in Awe.

There’s so much more for us. I’m ready.

xxS

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*Sources:

Mayo Clinic, 1, 2, National Library of Medicine, Cleveland Clinic, Healthline, Inc., Shira Gabriel, Chetan Parkyn, National Parks Service (gov), Rachel Carson Center, Vice, Wisconsin Academy, Psychology Today