Life is full of little reminders that we are here to learn and to feel; to fully experience, to live like it’s important (because it is).

And I, among the fellow wild hearts of the world, learn and feel intensely—perhaps because I am always wondering.

I have wondered in both broad senses of the verb: to desire or be curious to know something, and to feel admiration and amazement; to marvel. I question, I learn, I feel—and I find myself amazed by the ways of our vibrant existence, if we choose to make it so.

I have wondered about everything within my reach and many things beyond it, ever broadening the scope of my thoughts and inquiries. I have wondered about myself, about others, about the world, about other worlds, about the sun and the moon and the configuration of paradoxes in which we live.

I have wondered how I appear to those around me, to those who know me well and to those who only know the girl who either walks too fast with a downward gaze or stops dead in her tracks to paint the sky with her eyes.

Because sometimes, things are too beautiful to keep walking; sometimes, I feel the urge to stop and stare into the fixtures we so easily take for granted, the ones that give us everything we need just by acknowledging their presence.

I have wondered how this world goes on supporting us, even though we tend to forget our pleases and thank yous for all it provides.

I have wondered about time and how it is undeniably consistent, though it often feels askew in one way or another. How else could I explain the hours that feel like lifetimes and the years that feel like seconds? And what about the minutes that fail to pass in my mind while they scamper by my fingertips with every curious glance at a clock?

What about the workings of time that simply cannot be expressed? How do we define them—the hours of our slumber, the milliseconds of our cellular life cycles, the fleeting slews of words and actions so mesmerizing that they rob us of every thought and desire?

That’s the funny thing about time: It’s a seemingly simple concept we all know and experience, but it’s too vast and intricate to adequately describe. I have wondered about time, the way it brings us here and takes us there—the where, the what, the why and the how.

And I have decided that time is everything.

But it’s different than everything and anything else, because another funny thing about time is that it never stops. It’s the only thing that functions in this way—ceaselessly, impenetrably, steadfastly, reliably.

I have wondered why machines stop working, pages stop turning, voices stop speaking, dreams stop growing and limbs stop moving. I have wondered why hearts stop beating, both in realizations of such extreme beauty or pain that its pulse is disturbed and in breathless moments of passing from one life to the next.

But time never stops; and if there is one thing we can trust, it is this endless form of motion in its predictable and constant openness, in its drafts of essays in chronicles that will never reach completion.

Still, I have wondered why we try to fool time’s intelligence—why we relentlessly aim to see through it, to know everything about it so that we may seize it or hide from it depending on our insights. Why do we try to do time’s job ourselves, only to be reminded with rudimentary repercussions that no matter what we do, we cannot be time?

I have wondered what would happen if we laughed or cried or danced or sang—perhaps all at once—whenever we felt like it. What if we lived everything there is to live, with a fearless heart and a bold message to share?

What if we all knew love, unconditionally and limitlessly? What if we could give it, receive it, believe it, embody it? I have wondered about love, over and over again, in all its various forms. I have wondered about its translucence, its patterns and its wild possibilities.

And speaking of love, what if everyone in the world could do what they love to do? What if everyone in the world could know what that even means?

I have decided that this would make the world sing a little louder and shine a little brighter. And isn’t that all we could ever ask—to be bold and beautiful and bright in the most magnificent ways?

I have wondered what it’s like to be those things, and I have caught glimpses of them here and there. But sometimes, I feel too afraid to find it. And I wonder about fear—about all the things we could do, if only we thought to shed its debilitating aura.

I have wondered what it means to be fearless, to confidently say everything that dances in my mind, unafraid of what might escape my lips upon crossing my heart.

I have decided that someday, I will know what that means and how it feels. And even still, I will keep wondering about something more, because time spent wondering is only as fresh and new as the moment that passes beneath its feet—gliding, ever-changing.

So until someday, maybe right now is the perfect time to keep wondering, to walk or stand still and look up to the sky, to color it with questions and hopes; for the things we wonder become the things we seek, and the things we find are the little reminders to keep asking.

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Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: Frinthy via Flickr