Getting stalked by awe

I feel like awe has been creeping around the edges of my life for months now. Whispering in my ear to pay attention. Gently nudging to get out of my head and into my body. A quiet knowing that there is more. A presence I can feel, but can’t quite experience.

About three weeks ago, I had a beautiful day with a stranger I met on a bus while attending a conference. Sometimes it is easier to talk about the raw and truthiest thoughts that ping-pong through my mind with a complete stranger than it is to share with those who know me. We traversed the gamut of conversation from family upbringing, to politics, to pivotal moments of transformation, to money, and religion. We got to discussing our experiences growing up and going to church, our ideas of faith and spirituality and the reasons we had for leaving the church in our twenties. It reminded me of Alain de Botton book Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide for the Uses of Religion. I read this book over a decade ago and his descriptions on the importance of religious spaces bringing us into a state of awe has always stayed with me. I felt it visiting St. Paul’s Cathedral—the quiet hush, the soaring ceiling, the light filtering through stained-glass windows, the smallness of me in the vastness of my surroundings. I asked Alex what he thought of that idea of awe, and the conversation meandered from there to other things.

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It snuck into my life last weekend, again, after morning coffee with my beloved friends who recommended I listen to Alie Ward’s podcast Ologies. I’m fine trying something new, but I wasn’t sure about really committing to it. Though, if I being honest with myself, these friends have introduced me to several new things this past year, offering them up with their hearts full of love, and they have not been wrong once. My life has become richer by trying the things they have suggested. That afternoon I decided to listen to an episode while I was working on my miniatures. I scanned the recent episodes looking for the shortest one because despite everything they have done for me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to commit an hour of my life listening to something new. I like to think it is part of my charm, but I recognize that my reticence can be annoying to other people or comes across as disinterest. I clicked play only to discover it was about awe.

Ward interviewed Dacher Keltner about his book Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life. I understood his practice of finding five minutes of awe a day, but I was skeptical. Awe is a pretty big emotion. The times I have been captivated by awe do stand out in my memory. Hunting for awe on a daily basis seemed in many ways to diminish it, and also seemed like an unrealistic goal. I live nowhere near stunning architecture. I can find some awe-inspiring views near where I live, but I was not interested in hiking several hours to find them. I was content for my brief moments of awe in the past to sustain me until the next time I went travelling or decided to go for a hike.

On Sunday morning, my dog was insisting on going to the high school field to play. I said “no,” and dragged her on a different walk in the trails because it is far too boring for me to stand in an empty field watching her while she sniffs around. That kind of dog walk requires preparation. I need my headphones to listen to a podcast and I need a couple of balls to throw for her to keep her entertained. I promised her that “tomorrow we could go to the high school.”

Monday afternoon came and after several hours of writing at my computer, I was wanting to stretch out on my patio and read a book. Maisy had other opinions. I know that dogs can’t remember conversations, but Maisy was committed to going to the high school for our walk. She was digging in and pulling me across the street and up the school driveway with fierce determination. I had promised her that we would go on Monday and she was going to hold me to that promise. I did not have my headphones with me. I did not have a water bottle. I did not have a ball. I really did not want to stand in an empty field in the blazing sun watching her sniff the grass. I was sweaty and in no mood to wrestle my very determined dog to walk a familiar route in the shade. She was having none of the treat bribery I was offering her. She was going to the high school field and I was coming along.

I let her off her leash and she was ecstatic. Jumping. Hopping side to side. Tongue out. Butt wagging. I was sweating and already bored. At the far end of the field, she found a stick. I threw it a couple of times. She found another one. Slowly we walked along the back end of the field until she flopped in a patch of shade and refused to move. She was quite content to gnaw on the stick and it became clear that I would have to learn to deal with it because she was choosing to ignore me.

I sat on the grass next to her. I couldn’t remember the last time I sat on the grass with no book or podcast. It felt uncomfortable. When I suggested we go home for a drink of water, Maisy moved deeper into the shade, and curled around her stick with her back facing me.

So I sat there and waited. As my brain became quieter, the sound of the breeze blowing through the dry cottonwood leaves became louder soothing me like hearing the ocean lap at the shore. I leaned back on my elbows and closed my eyes allowing the sound of the rustling leaves fill me. After a while, my elbows become tired and so I stretched out on my back on the grass. I couldn’t remember the last time I had done that, probably not since my early 20s. I just looked at the blue sky and noticed the way the thin, wispy clouds seemed to be hardly moving.

And then it hit me. Awe. Here I was a tiny speck of a human looking at the vastness of the sky above me. How wondrous that I am alive to see it.