Rediscovering Wonder - a reflection

Watch a baby encounter a new object, a crinkly wrapper, a dangling toy, or even their own toes and you witness something profound: pure, unfiltered discovery. Eyes widen. Tiny hands reach. Everything goes straight to the mouth for a full sensory investigation. There is no agenda, no self-consciousness, no “I already know this.” Just intense, joyful curiosity that turns the ordinary into the extraordinary.

As philosopher Alan Watts observed, babies embody the very essence of existence itself: playful. “Existence, the physical universe, is basically playful,” he said. “There is no necessity for it whatsoever. It isn’t going anywhere… But it is best understood by analogy with music, because music, as an art form, is essentially playful. We say you play the piano, you don’t work the piano.”

We adults? We scroll past sunsets. We walk the same routes on autopilot. We’ve traded that raw intensity for efficiency, familiarity, and the quiet exhaustion of “arriving.” But here’s the beautiful truth: the way babies play isn’t just adorable, it’s a living reminder of the universe’s true nature, and a masterclass Watts urged us all to reclaim.

The Playful Universe in a Baby’s Hands

Babies are born explorers, tiny scientists shaking, dropping, banging, tasting, systematically testing the world to reduce uncertainty and build their minds. Watts would have smiled at this, seeing it as proof that life itself is not a grim journey toward some distant success but a dance where the playing is the point.

In our goal-obsessed culture, he warned, education and adulthood turn us into travelers racing to the end of the corridor: kindergarten, college, career, retirement. “Then you wake up one day about 40 years old and you say, ‘My God, I’ve arrived… and there’s a slight letdown because you feel there’s a hoax.’” We missed the music. Babies never do. Every rattle is a symphony. Every tumble, part of the dance.

Engaged in the Here and Now

A baby doesn’t “observe” a rattle. They become the experience, feeling, hearing, seeing, smelling, mouthing it all at once. This total immersion lights up every neural pathway.

Watts called this the real secret of life: “to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play.”

Adults live in our heads, outsourcing wonder to screens. Babies, and Watts remind us to plunge in with all senses. Put the phone down. Feel the grass, the cookie dough, the steam. Dance while the music is being played, exactly as the infant does without knowing any other way.

Dancing Through Every “Mistake”

Drop a toy ten times? A baby picks it up the eleventh time laughing. No shame, only data. Watts celebrated this: children take their play very seriously, fully present with no wasted-time anxiety. Failures are not endpoints; they’re moves in the dance.

He urged adults to blur work and play entirely: “Don’t make a distinction between work and play. Regard everything that you’re doing as play.”

Want to learn guitar, dance, or speak a new language? Approach it like the baby, or like Watts dancing across the room: no aiming for the far wall, just joyful movement. Every stumble is part of the music.

Living in the Miracle of the Mundane

To a baby, a ceiling fan is theater. A spoon is percussion. Their reflection sparks awe. They cherish what adults call “garbage” and notice detail in faces in ways we’ve been trained to ignore.

Watts explained why: “A child will very often select experiences that adults deem ridiculous. Because a child has not yet been taught how to select according to our preconceived notions… children will cherish rubbish… They will notice features of people’s faces which are not supposed to be noticed.”

The baby’s consciousness is “undifferentiated,” wide open, hardly selective, seeing no sharp line between self and world, good and bad, voluntary and involuntary. Adults filter reality into neat boxes and lose the joy, mystery, and magic. Watts invited us to recover that original openness.

Babies haven’t lost their intensity and wonder, they never had the chance to bury it under deadlines, opinions, and the hoax of “arrival.” They interact with the world as if it’s brand new, because to them it is. And, as Watts kept reminding us, it still is.

Every sunrise is a fresh note. Every conversation, an improvisation. Every ordinary object holds hidden music if you approach it with open hands, wide eyes, and the willingness to play.

So go ahead. Crawl a little. Taste the unknown. Bang the spoon until it sings. Dance while the music is being played, exactly as the babies do, and exactly as the universe intends.

The babies remind us how to live.

What tiny, playful discovery will you make today?