I was tapping away at Instagram at everyone's favourite time - when we shouldn't be. Among the digital library of uninvited assault on my senses and attention, I found a video that was mildly welcomed by my curiosity. I watched for a few seconds till I reached the limit of the allowed duration on stories. Hooked, I tapped one more time to continue watching on the main feed, and the video picked up from the exact point it ended prior. That blew my mind. Some of you reading may be wondering what was noteworthy in that experience. Isn't that how it's supposed to work? But as someone who has worked in digital product design, I know that's not how it's supposed to work. That's what you expect, but it didn't have to work like that.
That phrase "supposed to " is the obligation we place on the world for how it should function. Be it an Instagram story, how a car drives, or how your spouse speaks to you. And that's the reason our lives are dull half the time and full of strife the other half. That phrase "supposed to" rids us of the wonder beneath the complexity of simple experiences. Like a video picking up where it left off from story to feed, or a song picking up from where it was when you close your browser or app. Here's what I mean. For the video to behave in the way it did, someone has to recognise, first of all, that the behaviour is expected and, for their own selfish reasons, decide that it was important for it to be satisfied. Then someone else has to think about how to create a structure that allows the video to play in one place, take note of the time it stops, and make sure it continues from wherever you go next in the app. That requires care, thought and effort to make happen. That's true of every technology we take for granted nowadays.
Have you thought about how phone calls happen, how Wi-fi works or how aeroplanes work? Not many of us do. Somethings just are, and we expect them to be. In the case of the Instagram experience, it is fair to argue I only know about that because I have had to do many such things. So I could see the scaffolding beneath the seamlessness. But in all the other cases I stated, simply paying attention and asking the question of how creates a sense of wonder about technology and engineering. How fascinating it is that humans have figured out a way to make metal float in the sky, on the sea and make it glide on land.
But there's more to wonder than just technology. Life itself is full of wonder. Have you thought about how your body works? Thirst in particular has been an interesting one to me. There's this state my body gets in where it demands a specific substance. That substance cannot be replaced by any other like it, not even a compound that contains it. My body will only respond to the specific thing. My thirst can only be truly quenched by water and nothing else. And what is water? This weird substance. Colourless, odourless, and somehow makes up 70% of my body? Has all these attributes - can be soothing, healing, but if it falls from certain heights, can be crushing, and when pushed through tubes at a specific pressure, can cut into stones? Something that replenishes, soothes, crushes, cuts, kills? It is extremely confounding, yet we take it all for granted because that's just how it's supposed to be. I've long thought that we take the wonder of life for granted. And I think that's why our lives are dull half of the time. Being itself is a miracle we're yet to fully wrap our heads around. So much so that a few of us spend our entire lives attempting to grasp how slivers of it work. The neurologist can tell you of the mystery that's the brain, the chiropractor the intrigue of the fascia and bones. The optometrist can tell tales about the world of the eye. But the average man doesn't have the time nor space to ponder the wonders of how he got out of bed this morning and how his feet move when he thinks them to. All of these also point me to another level of wonder. Of not how these things are, but of how any of them came to be for us to even consider in the first place. Source, God, Universe, we call it many names.
Beyond the philosophical and overly technical, there's a more practical implication of wonder, in the relational. I didn't see that connection at the start of this essay, but I've felt a lot lately that philosophy and the constant probing of reality are useless if it doesn't find expression in our daily living. For the sake of this conversation, I'll single out a particular kind of relational reality: marriage. It is, after all, the most consistent and intimate relational experience I have. When two people take that sacred vow to spend the rest of their lives with each other, that comes with expectations. A bag of supposed-tos. What, at all, is the benefit of such heavy commitment if there's no mutual benefit? But like how that video plays on Instagram, the fact that something is expected behaviour doesn't warrant its immediate satisfaction. Someone needs to acknowledge it, decide to care and then make the effort to satisfy those expectations. That knowledge, I think, is the foundation of all relational success. Or at least one of its building blocks. Because relationships start to decay when the participants stop having a sense of wonder about how the other person does it, even if they're supposed to. I know I'm a difficult person to live with. So I wonder how my wife does it. How she stays steady on this emotional rollercoaster of a man that I am. What stories she tells herself and what justification she makes for living life this way. I'm in awe of how my wife's mind works. How she organises things and brings joy to the mundane in our home. I'm in awe of how she knows to guide our daughter the way she does, or how she knows how to make my favourite eggs a certain way. The knowing that I can't fathom how any of it works, even at my best attempts, makes me appreciate her more. And past that, I wonder how she came to be this way. The myriad of experiences and decisions that led her to this moment, and before any of it, her existence in itself.
Just like the Instagram video or how my wife makes my favourite eggs, or thirst, or the fact that you're reading this somewhere in the world on some strange rectangle that's blasting light into your retinas, I can't imagine any of these is just supposed to be. I can imagine that something, someone, somewhere thought about what's best, and through care and effort made it happen. And oh how wonderful that is.
Addendum:
1. I'd argue that the things that bring us joy life, money, sex, love, at least the ones we've pedestalised- have imbued them with a sense of wonder too. But maybe we don't always need them to feel the joy of life if we can see wonder all around us.
2. This essay was inspired by my reflection on G. K. Chesterton, Alan Watts and Joe Hudson. All of whom think wonder is an important and beneficial perspective on life.
3. There are probably many more worlds in here. But modern life demands that I move on to my other responsibilities. Maybe, one day, I'll come back to this and give it the attention it deserves.