Awe is an emotion that stops you in your tracks. It’s the sudden intake of breath at a sky full of stars, the goosebumps that rise during a soaring piece of music, the profound stillness that settles over you when witnessing an act of immense courage or generosity. We tend to think of awe as a rare, grand spectacle—a luxury experience. But this view misses its fundamental role. Awe is not just a fleeting feeling; it is a vital psychological messenger, an experience designed to pull us out of the narrow confines of our own minds and recalibrate our relationship with the world.
The Wisdom of Your Awe
The primary function of your awe is perspective. It’s like being in a small, stuffy room, consumed by your own thoughts and worries, and suddenly throwing open a window to a vast, stunning landscape. The fresh air that rushes in is awe. It activates what researchers call the “small self,” the potent realization that you are one part of a much larger, intricate system. This shift is incredibly adaptive. By momentarily shrinking the ego and its anxieties, awe quiets the relentless inner narrator, reduces stress, and fosters a sense of connection to humanity, nature, and life itself. It is the universe’s reset button for the self, reminding us that our personal dramas are not the only story being told.
When Awe Feels Destructive
While awe is overwhelmingly positive, its power can be distorted or misdirected. The feeling can become overwhelming when it tips into a sense of radical insignificance or powerlessness. This is the difference between awe as a window and awe as a void. The window connects you to a larger reality while you remain grounded; the void threatens to swallow you whole, making you feel meaningless. This distortion is often exploited. Charismatic leaders, rigid ideologies, and high-control groups can manufacture moments of intense awe to overwhelm critical thinking and demand surrender. Our modern world, with its relentless focus on productivity and the self, also creates a deficit of healthy awe, leaving us starved for perspective and more vulnerable to its counterfeit versions.
Learning to Listen
Cultivating awe doesn’t require a trip to the Grand Canyon. It is a skill of attention, a choice to notice the extraordinary within the ordinary. The main barrier to this is our own hurried mind, which dismisses wonder as inefficient. You might be walking to your car and notice a particularly beautiful quality of light, and your mind immediately insists, “This is silly. You don’t have time for this, you’re going to be late.” That is the moment to practice. Acknowledge the thought. I hear that urgency. I see it. And, for just ten seconds, I can also let myself be here and simply look at the way the light is hitting that leaf.
Remember, too, that awe often coexists with other feelings—a touch of fear (the sublime), a hint of sadness at the beauty’s impermanence, a surge of joy. It is rarely a pure, simple state. The invitation from awe is almost always sensory and immediate. It’s not a command to solve a problem, but a nudge to engage with the world more deeply—to look up from your phone, to listen to the birdsong without distraction, to truly taste your morning coffee.
A Moment for Self-Inquiry
Right now, what is one thing in your immediate vicinity—the texture of your desk, a shadow on the wall, the sound of the air—that you can give your full attention to for three deep breaths?
When was the last time you felt a sense of wonder, however small? What triggered it?
Can you allow yourself to feel “small” not as a form of worthlessness, but as a form of liberating connection to something vast?
Awe is not an escape from your life, but a deeper immersion into it. It is the practice of keeping the window open. By intentionally making space for wonder, you are not wasting time; you are actively engaging with an emotion that brings perspective, humility, and a profound sense of connection. You are remembering that you are a part of a world that is, and always will be, more magnificent than your worries.