My son and I walk a lot through the neighborhood. One day, we strolled past an old building with a blend of vines cascading down. The ivy twists its way up, conferring a regalness to an otherwise nondescript building. A thick stalk of blackberry descends from some unseen source, spikes jutting out to guard something unseen. The structure emanates an aura of wisdom – the secrets discovered inside over the years are reflected in nature’s approving embrace. This whimsy is not something I feel lifting my heart often as I wade through Seattle, a relatively new city with an ever-increasing ratio of tech money to culture. The magic of the land, of the past, and of the unknown is drifting away.
Humanity used to constantly be intrigued by the unknown. Beyond the boundaries of mundane life was the mystical and magical worlds. The gods controlled the seas. Beyond the edges of the map lie the domains of spirits where cities were made of gold, water turned us young again, and chimeras stalked the land. These edges of understanding were also in our everyday lives. Whether it was the morning prayer rituals, the entrails of a bird divining our future, or the whims of fate transforming grain into alcohol, everyone had a reverence towards magic.
Eventually, the mystical gave way to the romantic. Faraway places became accessible at great costs. Their spoils: exotic, prized, and coveted. It was possible to enjoy such delights, but they still lacked a common, shared vernacular. Heroes shifted from gods and their progeny to great, gifted people: inventors, explorers, writers, pioneers, and revolutionaries. These people went past our boundaries of knowledge and returned with something powerful. Even in the more mundane, much was unknown. News from the world was sparse; the machinations of governments were only privy to some; and the inner workings of an academy were sealed within its walls.
As we propel towards the future, we seem to be running out of the unknown. All our questions are answered by the box in your pocket. Sure, the answers may be wrong, but where’s the magic in misinformation or bad AI summaries? What’s worse is we seem fine with losing the intrigue of the unknown. We ceded the final frontier of space to a drug-addled egomaniac. Children no longer want to be astronauts, actors, or any of the great, gifted people; they want to be influencers – something that merely consumes the known and regurgitates it as the overexposed. Who can blame them? Precious little of what they see is the result of a single, eccentric vision. The world is usability tested, focus grouped slop made for and by the lowest common denominator.
As we pass this vine-covered building, this wizard school blessed by the fairies from another era, I yearn for this feeling of mystical uncertainty to be true. I push the facts out of my mind – knowing these vines are invasive species is the kind of “well, actually” that does a disservice to the brain. My son is too young to distinguish between the new and old, the pristine and the dilapidated, but I’m glad he’s seeing something that wasn’t approved by a committee. I’m glad he still sees the world as a place to explore. I’m glad he still senses wonder and magic.