Embracing Awe – Letting the Wonder We’ve Stopped Noticing Open Us
Thank you for joining me today,
I’m someone who tries to appreciate the simple things in life. The feeling of the sun on my face. A meaningful conversation with a friend. Any and every dog. But the longer I’ve been on this journey, the more I’ve been realizing that those seemingly simple things are not actually all that simple. When I really stop and think about it, it kind of blows my mind.
The fact that the sun rises each day. The fact that this particular person exists, with their own story, their own path, and somehow our lives crossed. The fact that an animal can stir something so immediate and tender in me. None of it is as ordinary as we’ve learned to treat it.
There is something astonishing in how life comes together. I don’t think wisdom is quite the word I’m looking for here. It feels more like mystery. Or magic. Something intricate and far beyond my conscious awareness, yet somehow still available for me to notice if I slow down enough.
I think children often have easier access to this. They can watch a line of ants as though they’re witnessing something incredible. They can stare at the sky and ask question after question, not because they need an answer right away, but because they’re genuinely taken by what they’re seeing. They let themselves be drawn in by wonder.
Somewhere along the way, many of us lose touch with that. Maybe we start taking things for granted. But I also think we stop noticing them altogether because we become so focused on getting to the next thing. We live on autopilot. We rush through moments that could move us. We try to stay on top of life rather than actually being with it.
Part of my own journey has been about creating more space to return to that part of me that still knows how to be moved by life. Not in a childish way, but in a deeply alive way. I’m reconnecting with the part of me that still knows how to access that sense of wonder.
And the more I do that, the more I notice that awe doesn’t just help me appreciate life more. It also changes how I relate to it. It creates a deeper sense of trust in the unfolding of my life. Not because I suddenly understand everything, and not because I think everything happens for a reason in some neat or tidy way, but because I keep seeing how limited my view is in any given moment.
There have been things that didn’t work out that I was certain should have…plans that changed, moments that felt disappointing, confusing, or painful at the time. And while I never want to force meaning onto every hard experience, I can say that there have been many moments when I’ve looked back on something I once grieved or resisted and realized it made space for a conversation, connection, or direction that became deeply meaningful to me.
I imagine many of us know this feeling: a job we didn’t get, a relationship that ended, a plan that fell through. At first, all we can see is what we lost or what didn’t happen. But sometimes, we eventually begin to see what that moment made room for, or how it quietly redirected us toward something we couldn’t yet see.
I think that’s part of what awe opens up in me. It reminds me that life is doing more than I can see from where I stand. There’s an interconnectivity between things that I cannot fully map or control. And instead of making me feel powerless, that awareness actually softens me. It helps me loosen my grip a little and relate to life with more curiosity and less force.
I’ve also noticed that awe deepens itself. When I make space to notice it, I start seeing more of it. And the more I let it matter, the more alive I feel inside my own life.
It becomes a kind of feedback loop, but not in a performative or dramatic way. More like a quiet remembering…a softening into the fact that there’s so much here that we miss when we’re rushing, bracing, or trying too hard to figure everything out.
Jonathan Haidt writes in The Happiness Hypothesis that “awe creates an opening for change.” That line feels so true to me. Awe interrupts our usual frame. It widens something. It invites us out of the narrowness of our thoughts, stress, and assumptions, and reminds us that there’s more here than what we’ve been fixated on.
That doesn’t mean life suddenly becomes easy. Being human still comes with pain. There is still grief, uncertainty, heartbreak, frustration, and the quiet ache of not always knowing. Awe doesn’t erase any of that. But for me, it does create more space around it. It helps me remember that even in the midst of pain, there is still beauty here. There is still magic here.
That has changed my world. Not because everything feels magical all the time, but because I’ve become more available to moments that once would have passed me by. A reflection in the sky, a stranger’s kindness, or a conversation that lands right when I need it. I notice sudden waves of gratitude for things I would have once called ordinary.
If you’ve been feeling disconnected from that sense of awe, here are a few gentle ways to make more space for it:
Slow your attention down. Not every moment asks for deep reflection, but some do ask for a second look. Awe often lives in what we notice when we don’t rush past it.
Let yourself be affected by what is beautiful. We can move past meaningful moments so quickly. Try staying with one a little longer than usual.
Notice what quietly stirs something in you. Awe is not always dramatic. Sometimes it arrives as tenderness, surprise, or a subtle sense of being moved.
Look back on your life with a little more openness. You may not find meaning in everything, but you may notice that some things make sense in a different way with time.
Spend time with what helps you remember wonder. Nature, music, art, animals, prayer or meditation, deep conversation, children, silence. Some things bring us back to ourselves more easily.
The more I let awe into my life, the more I realize it isn’t reserved for rare moments. It’s woven into everyday life, into what’s familiar, into what we’ve stopped seeing clearly because we’ve seen it so often.
Sometimes it’s as simple, and as hard, as pausing long enough to notice that what we call ordinary is often anything but. To let ourselves be opened by what’s already here, and to remember that even in a life that includes pain, uncertainty, and change, there is still so much that is beautiful, intricate, and quietly astonishing.
With heartfelt gratitude,
Christina
