Cultivating Happiness, One Awe-Filled Step at a Time
My own self-imposed rules were simple — step outside, observe with intentionality, embrace awe
In 1974, when I was 24, I studied photography with the late Harold Feinstein, a gifted photographer and remarkable teacher. We were street photographers, capturing the expected, the unexpected, in our everyday world.
One day, our assignment was to spend the first hour warming up by taking pictures inside. Light streamed in though the kitchen window, landing on the round, wooden dining room table; there were spider webs and geometric imperfections in window sills; dust and lint; familiar surroundings brought alive.
I was reminded of Harold Feinstein's lesson recently when I read "Awe, The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life" by Dacher Keltner, professor and faculty director of UC Berkeley's Greater Good Science Center. He explores awe in all of its forms, in the ordinary, the mundane and extraordinary. He describes how cultivating awe in the everyday leads to appreciation of our humanity, boosts happiness.
On every corner, pansies were in bloom, bright purple, white and yellow flowers.
To invite more awe into my life, I committed to go for an "Awe Walk" every day for a week. My self-imposed rules were simple — step outside, observe with intentionality, embrace awe. Not chills-inducing crescendos at the opera; not the rapture of a double rainbow; definitely not the awe experienced at the births of my children. More akin to street photography in its aim to notice, explore what is around us. Here's how it went.
An Awesome Encounter
Day One: No warm-up needed, I took my usual mile-and-a-half loop, down the hill, through the manicured community next door. On every corner, pansies were in bloom, bright purple, white and yellow flowers. I was momentarily transported back to my dad's greenhouse when I was a little girl, his mancave before mancaves were a thing. He gave me my own flat to plant and tend. I chose pansies, my favorite flower, delicate, velvety soft, yet hardy petals. Memories of the smell of that greenhouse — moist, earthy, leafy, alive, fill me with awe.
Day Two: I set out in late afternoon, came upon a man and his dog. "Are you a dog walker?" the man asked. Normally I would have smiled, pleasantly replied not a dog walker, and continued on at a brisk pace. This was an awe walk, open to whatever appeared. I stopped. We spoke for a half-hour. His name was Ron. I tossed a slobbery frisbee for his sweet old pup Campbell. He told me about a pedestrian bridge not far my house that spans the highway, connecting to the other side of town. What an awesome encounter.
A Bridge, A Koi Pond
Day Three: I decided to scope out the bridge my new friend Ron had told me about. Cars and trucks sped by underneath. I was struck by the roar, the magnitude of it all. People on their way to jobs, dentist appointments, dates, funerals, Target; trucks transporting who knows what. All of them, and me, one tiny human, standing on the bridge overhead, noticing them. Thinking about them. In awe.
I was struck by the roar, the magnitude of it all.
Day Four. My friend Evelyn and I frequently meet at a botanical garden, 95 meticulously landscaped acres, with hundreds of varieties of plants, flowers and trees; ponds with blossoming water lilies and lotuses. Today we sat next to a pond on an aged, gray wooden bench, watched koi swam under the surface; turtles land on logs and rocks, sunning themselves. Ducks glided serenely. Birds alit on trees. As usual, we reveled in the enormous beauty for a bit, then got to talking. As I walked back to my car a few hours later, I was drawn to a round white rock that lay in the gutter, its rough surface pocked with black and grey. It fit perfectly in the palm of my hand; snuggled in my pocket for the ride home. Awesome.
Find Awe
Day Five: I walked in a new neighborhood. A delivery truck sat behind a gate that required a fob to open. The driver pulled up, backed up, pulled close again. I had no fob. I stood and watched, silently wishing him an unhindered journey. He pulled up a third time. The gate magically opened. Our eyes met; we smiled; raised our arms in unison, V for Victory. He drove off. I walked on, heart filled, awed by the feeling of human connection.
I walked on, heart filled, awed by the feeling of human connection.
Day Six: I went out at dusk. The sky darkened. I glanced into a neighbor's window — a huge flatscreen TV with a bright neon-colored cartoon as I walked by. Looking up I saw trees silhouetted against a sky that I assumed was simply black. On thoughtful inspection, it was so much more — it morphed from pale blue/gray to cobalt, steel blue to jet black. I marveled at the sound of wind through a tall, dense stand of trees. Its power, beauty, intensity, rustling through leaves. An awesome sound like no other.
Day Seven: Today's walk was sitting down. I made a nest with pillows in the egg chair in my backyard and climbed in. I gazed up at bright blue sky. Birds hanging out in bushes and trees chirped, tweeted and sang. I loved eavesdropping on their conversations, wondered what they were saying. The author, Amy Tan, in her book, "The Backyard Bird Chronicles," writes about her experience birding. She says she found calming, restoration, more curiosity, an expansion of noticing nature in detail in birding. It enlarged her life. If it's a bad day, she says, be among the birds. I was.
Dacher Keltner cites the feeling of awe some people experience in the simple act of gazing at leaves fluttering in the wind. I found awe in the sound of birds; in reminiscing about the scent of a greenhouse; in a tiny rock lying in the gutter; in a shared smile with a stranger. Keltner writes, "Twenty years into teaching happiness, I have an answer: FIND AWE."
I found it, and I continue to, in my own backyard. You can too.
