Pumpkin Nights and Rediscovering the Wonder of Childhood

This past weekend, we hopped in the car and drove an hour out to a festival called “Pumpkin Nights.” It wasn’t some exotic getaway or an elaborate theme park experience—it was a piece of land not too far from home. We arrived around sunset, grabbed some food (a frozen pizza warmed up in a food truck, but hey, it hit the spot), and ate as the sky grew darker. As the lights began to glow and Canaan ate the last bit of pizza, his excitement grew . There was something genuinely magical about that night that went beyond the pumpkins or the food—it was like a doorway back to something we’d almost forgotten.

As the festival came alive, they started a fire-breathing show. Watching the performers light up the night was exhilarating; I managed to snap a few photos as they performed. Canaan was full of excitement, wide-eyed, absorbing it all in a way only kids can. There’s something incredibly pure in seeing the world through a child’s eyes—the kind of wonder that, somewhere along the way, adults tend to leave behind. And that night, I felt it resurfacing within me.

But the real magic kicked in when we entered the illuminated trail. It was like stepping into another world: rows of carved pumpkins, lanterns floating above, a dragon perched high in the trees, and fog slowly drifting over the surface of a pond. Canaan’s eyes lit up as he took it all in, and I realized that it wasn’t just his imagination running wild—mine was too. I could almost see the story he was creating in his mind, a world where the dragon in the trees might actually be real, where lanterns floated by themselves, and fog was there just to be touched. And as I watched him, I felt something inside me ease. It was like I’d been running on autopilot, but that night I slowed down and really saw.

There’s something beautiful about choosing to savor those small, almost everyday moments. It’s easy for us as adults to rush through, to say, “Oh, that’s cool,” and keep moving. But being there with Canaan reminded me that there was a time when I’d have wanted to stop, to watch the fog drift and maybe even reach out to “catch” it, just to see what it felt like. I might have wanted to stand under the dragon and dream of how it got there, or let my mind wander to the stories it could tell. That night, I committed myself to making more space for moments like these—to slowing down and remembering what it’s like to see the world with fresh eyes.

It’s funny, the things that bring us the most joy sometimes have nothing to do with how much they cost or how fancy they are. We paid $15 for that food-truck pizza and $10 for a big can of Red Bull. The festival wasn’t a grand spectacle or some posh getaway. But what it gave me—a memory I’ll always carry, a connection to my family, and a rekindling of my inner child—is priceless. Watching Canaan’s wonder, seeing him explore the world with a limitless imagination, reminded me of my own. Somewhere along the way, we often lose that ability to dream and to play, but it doesn’t have to be lost forever. Sometimes, all we have to do is slow down and let ourselves look a little longer.

It’s a challenge, isn’t it? To shake off the routines and worries that come with adulthood and see the world the way we did as kids. But it’s a challenge worth taking. We spend so much time chasing the big things—careers, achievements, the “next big thing.” And while those have their place, it’s these small, magical moments that make life rich. It’s not that we have to choose between being responsible adults and having a childlike spirit; we can do both. We can choose to put ourselves in our kids’ shoes, to pause, and to let ourselves feel amazed again.

As I stood there with my family, letting the lights and the magic of the night sink in, I realized that this is what life is all about—experiences that bring us closer, that make us feel young again, that remind us how to dream. We don’t need extravagant vacations or the perfect circumstances to feel joy. Sometimes, it’s as simple as taking the time to watch the world light up, to let our imaginations roam free, and to let our eyes light up alongside our kids’.

So here’s to making that choice. Here’s to slowing down, to seeing through the eyes of our kids, and to letting ourselves be just a little bit amazed. Because that night, I wasn’t just watching my son marvel at the world—I was right there with him. And in a way, I was right back where I started, remembering that childlike wonder is something we can carry with us, no matter how old we get.