The Wonderless Age
The end of awe, the rise of cynicism, and ten ways to reclaim your astonishment
One of our Quiet Life community’s favorite Candlelight Chat guests was Alexandra (Lexi) Hudson, author of the important book, The Soul of Civility and the excellent Civic Renaissance Substack. Lexi is an advocate for deep civility over superficial politeness, and today she’s back, having graciously offered to share with us her essay, “The Wonderless Age”. I wanted to bring you this piece because it focuses on a topic that affects us all: the end of awe, the rise of cynicism, and how to reclaim your own understanding that the world actually IS a magical place.
Here’s Lexi:
“Gracious reader,
While attending Redefining Classics this past weekend, a conference dedicated to celebrating overlooked voices and experiences in The Great Conversation, I met Junius Johnson, a Yale Ph.D.- turned independent scholar who teaches fascinating courses directly to incurably curious lifelong learners.
He shared that he’d written a book on why fantasy literature is so good for children. It’s called On Teaching Fairy Stories: A Guide to Cultivating Wonder in Students through Great Literature, and I can’t wait to read it.
“Why do you want to teach kids that the world is a magical place?” I asked him.
“Because the world is a magical place,” he replied, wonder in his eyes.
And he meant it—not in a sentimental or escapist sense, but in the deepest, most reality-rooted way. He offered an example: scientists have discovered only about 15% of the animal life on Earth. The rest remains a mystery—hidden in ocean trenches, forest canopies, forgotten caves, mountain peaks, and unknown valleys. We truly have no idea what might be out there. For all we know, creatures we think of as myths—dragon-like beasts, glowing birds, transparent frogs—may exist. The planet remains mysterious, brimming with life, possibility, and awe.
And yet, despite this possibility for wonder, many of us have forgotten how to see it.
Children Are Born With Wonder
Children enter the world as natural philosophers. Curiosity is their native tongue—an instinctive drive to wonder, question, and explore. Yet all too often, we stifle it—unwittingly smothering their awe with our cult of utility and efficiency. Curiosity doesn’t always chart the most direct path from point A to point B—but that’s precisely its power. Left unhindered, a child’s day is a litany of astonishment, a symphony of small revelations.
• “Why is the sky blue?”
• “Where do birds go when it rains?”
• “What does the moon eat for breakfast?”
They are masters of awe, fluent in curiosity. A dandelion is a marvel. A shadow is an enigma. A cardboard box becomes a rocket ship, a pirate’s cave, or a secret treasure chest. They are constantly awed by everything.
But this awe isn’t just charming—it’s foundational. Wonder is how children learn. It’s how they love. It’s how they begin to understand the world and themselves. Wonder is the operating system of a young mind.
Cynicism: The Enemy of Wonder
The opposite of wonder is not boredom. It’s cynicism. And cynicism is not intellectual sophistication—it’s spiritual fatigue. It’s the feeling of being certain, so certain that nothing can surprise you anymore.
Cynicism is the refusal to be impressed.
It’s a shield we raise when we’ve been disappointed too many times. It’s the result of overstimulation, over information, and under-delight. It often masquerades as wisdom, but it’s more often a kind of despair: the decision that nothing new under the sun is worth our time, our joy, our reverence.
We don’t become cynical overnight. Children lose their wonder gradually, through:
• Over-scheduling: Structured, achievement-driven environments that leave little time for open-ended play and exploration.
• Screens and algorithms: Which offer instant novelty and dopamine, short-circuiting real-world curiosity and slowing attention spans.
• Education that prizes answers over questions: The goal becomes scoring well, not marveling well.
• Adult modeling: When the grown-ups around them are distracted, disenchanted, too busy to look up at the stars or down at the ants, children learn that wonder is something we outgrow.
And so awe fades.
Adult Awe
We need wonder just as much—perhaps even more—as adults.
Wonder is not a luxury. It is a vital nutrient for the soul. It softens us. It reminds us we’re part of something bigger. It awakens humility, delight, and gratitude. It calls us out of ourselves.
Adults who cultivate wonder:
• Are more resilient. Awe increases our ability to cope with stress and setbacks.
• Are more generous. Wonder has been shown to make people kinder and more collaborative.
• Are more alive. Wonder reintroduces depth, mystery, and surprise into lives flattened by routine and responsibility.
And the good news is—we can learn it again. Children can be our teachers.
Let the Children Lead Us
Children don’t need to be taught how to wonder. We do. What they need is for us to protect and preserve their sense of awe—and, whenever possible, to let it spill over into our own lives.
We can start by:
• Watching how they look at the world. Try seeing things through their eyes. A puddle is an ocean. A caterpillar is an alien. A balloon is magic.
• Following their curiosity instead of always leading it. Let them set the pace on a walk. Let their questions become the curriculum of the day.
• Limiting distractions. Phones, schedules, and stress pull us away from awe. Practice being fully present with them and the world around you.
• Asking more questions. Not to get the “right” answers, but to linger in mystery: What do you think the moon is thinking about right now?
And then: look up. Look down. Look long.
Recovering Wonder: A Beginner’s Guide
1. Look Up at the Sky
Whether day or night, the sky is a free, ever-changing masterpiece. Watch the clouds shape-shift or the stars flicker into view. Let yourself feel small in the best possible way.
2. Ask Childlike Questions
The more we ask, the more these questions will arise naturally within us. In time, we’ll begin to soften—loosening the grip of our fear of failure or of looking foolish—and gradually reclaim the childlike wonder we once knew. Instead of rushing for answers, ask a question you don’t know the answer to—Why do leaves change color? What’s inside a cloud? How old is the oldest tree in the world? Stay in the curiosity.
3. Go on a “Wonder Walk”
Take a short walk and set the intention to notice five things you’ve never observed before—textures, colors, sounds, smells. Move slowly. Let yourself be astonished.
4. Watch a Child Discover Something
If you have children in your life, join them in their play. Let them explain something to you— don’t rush them. Their delight is contagious—and instructive.
5. Read a Myth, Fairy Tale, or Fantasy Story
Step into a world of talking animals, magical quests, or enchanted forests. These stories remind us of the deep truths that reason alone can’t explain.
6. Keep a “Wonder Journal”
Every evening, write down one thing that surprised, amazed, or delighted you that day—no matter how small. Over time, you’ll train your mind to find the miraculous in the mundane.
7. Stargaze or Watch a Sunrise
These moments remind us we live on a spinning rock in a vast universe. Just five minutes of skywatching can reset your whole sense of time and place.
8. Turn Off Your Phone for an Hour
Silence the noise. Disconnect to reconnect—with your senses, your surroundings, and your own mind. Wonder requires space to breathe.
9. Touch Nature
Run your fingers over bark. Smell the soil. Watch a bee at work. Nature is not just beautiful—it’s strange, intricate, and endlessly mysterious.
10. Let Yourself Be Moved
Listen to music that gives you chills. Read poetry aloud. Stand before a work of art.
The Magic in the Mundane
“Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.”
—Kafka
The extraordinary is hidden in the ordinary, for those with the eyes to see it. Embrace this invitation to pay attention.
The world is still full of dragons and dreams, hidden creatures and invisible forces, unanswered questions and unexplored paths. The world is a magical place—not in spite of its reality, but because of it.
We do not need to manufacture wonder. We simply need to learn how to see again.
And the children in our lives—if we let them—will show us the way.”
OK, this is Susan again. I’m curious to know:
When is the last time you turned your phone off for an hour? (I must say that I don’t do this nearly enough, myself.) How did you feel?
In a typical day or week, do you experience more cynicism or wonder?
Which of Lexi’s strategies struck you as the most achievable?
Please do share!
This was a great article. I leave my phone off a lot in a day. When I’m walking in nature. I love to listen to the noises around me. When I’m exercising. I want to only focus on my breaths. When I’m reading I only want to hear the words speak to me. One of my favorite things to do at night when I take the dogs out one last time is to sit on my porch and look up into the sky and dream.
The most great strategy is “Watch a Child Discover Something”. Agreed and I love it