A Sneak Peek at My Next Book
So I’ve started writing another book. Here’s an early, never-before-seen draft of the opening.
I hope you enjoy it.
I want to tell you a story about a conversation that took place a few years back between a close friend and me – a conversation which, had it not happened, this book may well not exist.
My friend’s name is Nate, and he’s someone I would call a True Outdoorsman (TM). Nate feels like a part of himself is missing if he hasn’t spent enough time outside. I don’t just mean outside in general, like a backyard in the suburbs, walking to school, or a city park. I mean really outside: in forests and mountains, rivers and oceans, at the mercy of elements, and bit by mosquitoes.
Nate is one of those crazy cold-water swimmer types. The kind of person who intentionally hangs around as long as possible in water that is literally freezing-ass cold. Do you know what I mean? Perhaps you have such people in your life as well. Maybe you’re one of them yourself. You’ve picked up a book on wonder, after all.
Nate is also someone who often feels the impact of climate change acutely – in his body, even – and reflects on its long-term negative effects.
The fated conversation began with a story Nate told me about a time he was standing on the beach on Savary Island, in British Columbia, Canada. As he looked out on the vastness of the Salish Sea, he spied a pod of whales, a little ways offshore.
Nate’s first instinct, which he said out loud: I need to swim out to those whales.
My first thought, which remained in my thoughts: Do you, though?
He dove in and started swimming.
Soon he was a kilometre away from land, treading water and scanning the surface for whale plumes. Then suddenly a seal popped up, just a few meters away – closer than he’d ever seen one in the wild.
Nate and his new ocean-dwelling pal locked eyes for several long breaths. Nate described it as a moment of awe and wonder that he’d be unlikely to forget. Then he looked at me, eyes welling up, and said, “I find it so sad to think that, as rare as these kinds of experiences are for us, our kids and grandkids may never even have the opportunity.”
At the exact moment Nate was telling me this, a phrase popped into my head that would become the [working] title of my next book: The Endangerment of Wonder.
It’s my contention that wonder, awe, and curiosity are increasingly in short supply. We haven’t always been so wonder-deficient, and many of us are noticing a fresh desire for more of it. This book asks what threatens wonder’s existence, and explores how we might ensure its survival.
