What the World Hasn’t Taken From You

A soft refusal to go numb in a world that wants you to harden

This letter pairs gently with today’s podcast episode, where I unpack the timeless poem Desiderata — a quiet manifesto for living with grace, softness, and steady courage. You can listen to it [here].

Some days it feels like the world is holding its breath. Actually, most days at the moment, it feels this way, doesn’t it?

TL;DR : the world can be a difficult place. Life can be hard. But we don’t have to let it harden us.

As the quote often attributed to Kurt Vonnegut goes:

Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place

The headlines are heavy (which is why, pro tip, I avoid the news as much as I can). The air feels tense. Interactions with people might feel distracted, awkward, like walking on eggshells since…what’s the right thing to say anymore?

The future sometimes looks like a dumpster fire, one that you thought maybe finally went out a few years after the craziness of 2020.. You scroll, and scroll, and scroll — and somewhere between outrage and heartbreak and overload, in between the doomscrolling, someone dares to whisper: look for the wonder.

It’s me. Right here. That’s what I’m whispering to you right now.

And yes, it can feel naive. Maybe even infuriating.

As if someone’s asking you to light a scented candle in the middle of a wildfire. As if “finding wonder” could magically solve a climate crisis, a fractured world economy, a personal loss, or the slow grind of daily burnout (hustle culture isn’t doing any of us any favours).

Of course it can’t. It’s not going to solve anything. But it’ll help make things just that tiny bit more bearable.

Here’s the thing:

Wonder isn’t about pretending everything’s fine.

It’s not some kind of toxic positivity or form of little treat culture as a way to self soothe.

It’s about remembering and reminding yourself that there are still things out there that are okay, are good, are full of wonder - and that’s not a bad thing.

It’s not a distraction from reality (like little treat culture can easily slip into, for example). It’s a way to stay present inside of it — without being completely swallowed by it.

It’s about seeing the way light pools on your kitchen floor in the early morning, even when you woke up anxious.

It’s the moment your dog puts their head in your lap, asking for nothing but closeness and pets.

It’s the sound of sudden laughter in a coffee shop, rising like music against the weight of the day.

Wonder isn’t the prize. It’s the path.

We grow up thinking of wonder as a reward. Something reserved for vacations, or childhood summers, or spiritual mountain top moments.

We forget that it can also live in ordinary places — places that hurt, stretch, and grieve. Places of struggle and tension.

In a not-so-wonderful world, wonder becomes a form of quiet resistance.

A way to say:

"I still choose to care. I still choose to see. I’m still open to awe, even when I’m unsure what comes next."

When we allow ourselves to notice something beautiful — without needing it to fix everything and be a solution — we access a sliver of breath, a crack of light, a reason to keep going.

Even if it’s just the fact that:

• Coffee (or tea) exists.

• Libraries exist.

• Music that understands you before you do exists.

Wonder is what the world hasn’t taken from you.

You still get to marvel.

You still get to soften.

You still get to let yourself be surprised — even when your heart is world-weary.

And if you can feel wonder even here, even now, even just for a moment — then you’ve proven that it can survive anything. That you can.

Wonder doesn’t erase what’s hard. It doesn’t ask you to skip grief or bypass anger and upset. It just gives you a lifeline. A reason to breathe deeper. A reminder that your spirit hasn’t gone numb, not completely and not yet (hopefully).

That’s why I write the way I do. I’m not here to hand you platitudes or positivity sound bites. I’m here to hand you a flashlight, or candle. A soft glow in the dark. A reminder that, even when the world feels anything but wonderful, like now, you still get to be someone who sees the shimmer in the cracks.

And that is its own kind of rebellion.

---

So I wanted to leave you with a few gentle reminders

• You don’t have to feel wonder every day. It’s not something you want to force, because then it’s not really wonder, it’s just something else on your to-do list. But you just have to stay open to the possibility.

• It’s okay if you’re tired. If the world has drained the sparkle from life, making you feel flat. Here’s a reminder: wonder doesn’t demand your energy — just your attention.

• Small things count. In fact, small things are the entire point. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. Baby steps.

---

So Now It’s Your Turn

What’s one tiny thing that made you pause this week?

A bird call, a sentence in a book, the way someone poured cream into their coffee or tea — anything.

Tell me in the comments. Let’s collect a little corner of wonder together.

If this letter found you at the right time, feel free to share it with someone else who might need a little wonder today.

✨ Love this reflection?
You can download a beautifully simple 8-point infographic of the key ideas over in my Ko-fi shop. It’s pay-what-you-want — perfect as a gentle reminder, a journal page, or a quiet moment to come back to.

Dose of Wonder is a free publication.
If something here stirred your heart or made you pause — and you’d like to support my work — you can do so for less than the price of a fancy coffee (just $3).
Click the image below or the ‘Support Me’ link at the top of my page (doseofwonder.ca).
Every small contribution helps keep the wonder flowing.

With heartfelt thanks, always.
— Caitlin

P.S. Want to write for Dose of Wonder?

If you're curious about sharing your voice and ideas here as a guest writer, I’d love to hear from you. Your piece will be sent to all my subscribers—and you can cross-post it to your own audience too.

More eyes. More wonder. More connection.

Curious? Read this article for all the details →