You know the feeling when you choose something—a habit, a shirt, a dog—and it becomes a “thing”? Something in the global zeitgeist? Suddenly, it’s everywhere.
Yeah, I hate that.
Being a bit of a creative type, I choose things that make my soul sing. Or my eyes pop. Or my brain sizzle in the most amazing way. And then, when something I felt was unique or “mine” is taken up by the masses, it just feels like the lemming effect. (Lemmings are small rodents in the Arctic regions that exhibit herd behavior to the extreme—following each other even into situations so dangerous that they die.)
I don’t mean to sound entitled. It’s just I’ve never been one to buy into a trend—from Pandora jewelry to Uggs. Nothing looks more ridiculous to me than a bevy of suburban moms, each in her knee-high boots and vest—looking like a gang of Han Solos instead of grown-ass individuals capable of finding their own style.
So I get a little salty when trends usurp what I thought was beautiful on its own, without the fanfare. For instance, last night at a party I wore a favorite shirt. It was all fun and games until a fellow partygoer pointed out I matched the napkins. I did. Ugh. I guess that pattern can now be considered a trend—and it went into the back of my closet. We joked that I was channeling Scarlett O’Hara, only with table linens rather than curtains.
That very long-winded diatribe is solely an entrée to my main point—a word for the year. I’ve written about this before—here and here. I choose a word each year to hold as a sort of Patronus for me through the next 12 months. This is now a thing—I guess it’s been for some time now. But this is one trend I refuse to give up. It’s too inspiring to let myself poo-poo it for fear of appearing a lemming.
In 2019, my word is “wonder.” Not as in scratch-your-head, gee-whiz-I-wonder-what-I-should-do kind of wonder, but as in what Messrs. Merriam and Webster call wonder: “Rapt attention or astonishment at something awesomely mysterious or new to one’s experience. The quality of exciting, amazed admiration.”
Mm hmmm. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.
Since my former life blew up and I emerged from the wreckage, I’ve chosen words for each year. I’ve gone from “smokin’ hot creator” to “open-hearted” to “allow” to “ease.” I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I published more than ever in my “smokin’ hot creator” year. That I had a lovely romance in my “open-hearted” year. That the year I allowed, I made peace with some chronic situations in life that are not easy for me—and I stopped giving them so much energy. And that last year, when I focused on ease, life did indeed become easier to handle.
If past experience is any indication, I am in for some heady stuff this year. Stuff that is “awesomely mysterious.” Perhaps this is why I’ve been so drawn to quantum physics of late, the realm of the unseen and ethereal. This right-brained gal has been consuming quantum physics books as if I actually had enjoyed a science class ever. Which I did not, in any way, shape or form. But, I’m drawn like a moth to a flame to books on particle and quantum physics at the moment, finding them fascinating. Don’t corner me at a cocktail party. You’ll rue the day, my friend. At least, until I’ve moved on to another current passion.
Coincidentally, signs have popped up all over my town saying, “We all wonder.” They’re from a church I don’t belong to, and I’m not sure what they mean—but I’ll take it as confirmation I’ve chosen the right word. If I truly believe the quantum physics I’m reading, this is no coincidence. It’s just part of a reality I’m co-creating. Mind. Blown.
I guess I better get used to that experience. After all, this is the year of wonder.