On awe
“Awe is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your current understanding of the world.” — Dacher Keltner
When have you been in or witnessed awe?
I’ve felt it in response to a line of prose or poetry that turned my worldview inside out, and I’ve felt something like it after losing all sense of self in art or dance. I once saw a puppy look up in awe at a heron swooping low above him. A friend and mentor once led me through a meditation that filled me with awe.
But when I turn this word over in my mind what sticks out to me most are the unsung acts of kindness.
A teacher makes sure that everyone gets a chance to speak. An unexpected acknowledgment arrives after years of silent service. A child with fresh stitches from a neighbor’s dog bite sits up in the hospital room to ask if the dog and owner are okay.
Awe arrives when forgiveness is granted genuinely. When envy is devoured by love. When a hungry person offers half their sandwich or a terrified worker finds the courage to stand up against the status quo. Awe is watching the stillness of nature as it rides the currents of change. Awe is feeling a glimpse of relief from the twisting of severe pain. It’s what you receive when you give from a place of seeming lack.
When I was a child, I was often awestruck. Mostly by nature but also by the myriad stories I saw unfolding around me always. Nothing was boring then. Everyone was fascinating. Everything pulsed with possibility.
Then something changed. I began to feel a pressure to know, recite, and define everything by certain standards. I decided I had to understand what I saw and why it mattered.
All of this classical way of knowing can be good, but it can also make us forget or mistrust feelings of awe. It took me decades to remember to allow the feeling again. But today, I sit in awe.
I am on the couch, warmed by my dogs, and I feel stunned by the beauty of the moment. Their gentle snores are rhythmic, and my legs are heavy. The silence and unlikely warmth of a quiet day after Christmas offer a settled feeling, despite knowing that much work awaits.
I’m a huge fan of intention-setting for any period, and a new calendar year is the perfect opportunity. While many are resolution-allergic, I believe the intention, the resolve, and the focus of forward momentum are not about denying the present but acknowledging it and preparing for the mystery ahead.
To intend can simply mean taking stock and being hopeful for the future.
All of my writing this past year has been an aim to show the beauty in what seems dire. I haven’t always succeeded, and that’s fine. I believe any lack in this area is not due to time, skill, or energy but rather forgetfulness. Sometimes I forget, and perhaps we all do, to recognize all the moments of awe.
My one resolution in 2024 is to remember to live in a state of awe as often as possible. This requires a bit of humility. And I have to indulge it even if there are no words.
To remember to see this world as what it truly is, despite its pains and perils—to see a complex pattern of wonder that we need not understand but merely take in and explore gently is the aim.
In the spirit of the forthcoming year change, I wish you well. I hope what I share here nudges something in you, and whether it does or not, I’d love to know . . .
What brings you awe?
I live in an apartment building a ways off from the parking lot, and the walking path is surrounded by trees. One night when I was coming home from work, a barn owl swooped down from one of the trees right in front of me. It had an enormous wingspan, and it's white underside was in stark contrast to the darkness. It decended, spun itself in mid-air with a twist of its wings, and rose into the trees again. That was truly awe-inspiring.
Lovely piece, Jen! Awe to me is a shake-of-the-head moment I find when connecting with the natural world. When a sight, a sound, a touch, a taste hits unexpectedly . . . when being in the right place at just the right time. The awe is the connection.