Starry-Eyed Wonder

I’m sure none of you will be surprised to hear that I’m an introvert. Gasp! I know, right?

It may surprise you to hear that I love walking with the circus float in the local Christmas parade. That is, I love it under certain conditions—let’s not get crazy, okay? This year the conditions were peak—perfect temperature, the float went in the first third of the parade, and I got to walk behind it pulling the wagon with all the performers’ belongings.

This ideal position lets me watch the float (at least the back half) and the crowd while lurking in shadow not interacting with anyone. Per-fection! And while the young—so young!—performers on the float put on a fabulous show, the crowd drew my eyes this year.

I tend to see the crowd in chunks. The lights from the float define the people that I can see. And in each and every section of crowd, I saw at least one person full of Starry-Eyed Wonder. The folks with Starry-Eyed Wonder mostly range in age from around one year old to around ten years old, though every year I spot an occasional person full of S.E.W and advanced years. Mostly I notice them because they’re dancing around.

Sure, I can filter out audible clues that I’ve found one—usually either “How did she do that?” or “I could do that!”—but mostly I find them because they follow the float with totally open faces, reflecting its lights and projecting their own joy. And in those magically alight faces, their eyes have cartoon fireworks going off inside. If our eyes act as windows to the soul, these folks see a galaxy of wonder in a circus performance.

It only gets better in the arena, when the young circus performers give it their all as a team, with equipment, lights, music, and the magic of live performance. This year, the lady beside me clapped so hard that she kept knocking her cane into the next row. The young one behind me—about five years old—gasped at almost every act. And my own heart soared. Every time I think I’ve seen it all, I haven’t. Circus shoots a direct stream of Starry-Eyed Wonder into my heart.

People make bucket lists, but I’ve never seen the point. To me, it’s not what you do, it’s how you do it. I want to live my life filled with Starry-Eyed Wonder, no matter what I encounter. Whether it be a nice retiree who lets my student driver change lanes on a busy rush-hour road or a performance of Hamilton or a trip to a new place. It’s all Wonder-full. I want to keep my eyes open to it.

I will never forget picking up my soon-to-be-husband’s family from the airport in Roanoke, Virginia before our wedding. His dear family friends, Alice and Al Rossi, were in their 90s at the time—and I’ve never known people who love life more than they did. As we drove north on the interstate, through the gorgeous Shenandoah Valley, Mrs. Rossi could not sit still. She bounced all over the car, peering out every window, until she settled on her knees, looking out the back.

She had traveled all over the world at that point and, that day, she poured her joyous wonder all over us in celebration of the beautiful hills that reminded her of her youth in Germany. Mrs. Rossi lived in a state of Starry-Eyed Wonder.

That’s my goal for this year and for the rest of my life. And I believe that’s a huge part of why I love the Sailor Circus, a band of young people bringing wonder to us all. My wish for you in 2020? May all your days be circus days and may you greet them with Starry-Eyed Wonder!