A trip to old Curiosity Shop
The other day, I saw a small boy with a pigeon feather. He was fascinated by it. He caressed its soft plumage. I wanted to yell, “Put that dirty, disgusting thing down!” I mean … yuck. Seriously. It was a pigeon feather.
I had to remember my mantra: “Not my kid. Not my problem.”
Before I get nasty letters, I need to inform you I would swoop in and save a toddler from running into traffic, but I won’t advise parents on parenting. You can’t go into the grocery store and knock Fruity Pebbles out of some random dad’s hand and say, “Your kid shouldn’t be eating that crap.” Not twice. Not in the same Shop ‘n Save, at least.
But I digress, like I do. The boy with the feather was filled with wonder. He was so curious about the filthy thing. Kids have a natural, innate curiosity. They want to explore and examine their world. It would have been precious had it not been something so gross.
Side note: At the Long Beach Aquarium a few years ago, a parrot landed on my head and would not leave me. The parrot sort of latched on. The zookeepers had to untangle me. Otherwise, I would have had to spend my life in the bird enclosure. My friend, Justin, and his sons thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. He didn’t hurt me in any way, but I’ve had an Alfred Hitchcock-sized case of ornithophobia since. P.S. I tried explaining to a therapist it’s not an irrational fear of birds after you’ve actually been attacked by one.
Meanwhile, I was wondering what happened to my own curiosity. Where did it go? When did I lose my sense of wonder? I was curious about my curiosity (yeah, I didn’t see the obvious point at the time). I remember being thrilled by the unknown. I was saddened I no longer get that tingle when I encounter some new experience.
I remember being very excited by small things. A perfectly spherical rock, a unique soap fragrance (Moringa leaf, spicy, Geranium Verbena), a flower in bloom, a new word like tsiperifery (a sort of black peppercorn thingy). Wondrous lovely additions to my world.
Somewhere I got stuck in the “meh” zone.
Side note: “Meh” is an interjection bored hipsters use to express their ennui. I’m using it ironically, which of course makes me one of them.
I’m going to have to grow a beard and drink Pabst Blue Ribbon.
I used to be inquisitive. I went into journalism because I was prurient. That’s a fancy way of saying I was nosy. I was a full-on Gladys Kravitz snoopy-nose. Eventually, my curiosity no longer piqued. It peaked. But like any atrophied muscle, I’m convinced I can get it back again.
I’m going to make an effort to bring back my wonderment. I’ll keep you posted. After all, inquiring minds will want to know.