To me, awe is anything that inspires a moment of deep reflection about the world around me and how I live in it. 

Recently I was inspired by the Podcast “The Science of Happiness,” hosted by Dacher Keltner, a psychology professor at UC Berkeley. An aspect of the show is the importance of recording awe in your daily life, so I decided to start an awe journal.

I stayed on my toes peeking around every corner for a taste of awe, but it found me most when I wasn’t thinking about the journal. Something important to me was natural incorporation. I was trying not to force anything. 

Many of my entries were about observing connections between others. Usually when I have a conversation with someone I realize that I don’t really have the time or capacity to experience any awe in that moment. For me, awe is more easily experienced when I observe things happening around me. 

For example, on March 3, I was listening to music with noise canceling headphones on and could not hear anything that was happening in my second-period class. I was scribbling down a half-baked analysis of WWI-era poems, trying to squeeze in as much practice before the upcoming on-demand essay. But then, I looked over and noticed my teacher  talking with another adult. I could not hear what they were saying, but I could see their faces smiling contagiously, and their hands waving around to emphasize whatever they were talking about. 

It felt like the end of a long movie where you see two of the characters sitting at a cafe, or some kind of casual dining establishment, and the camera slowly zooms out. Their untouched panini and latte sit patiently beside them. I was enveloped in a sense of awe and closure at the pure connection that I was observing.

In another instance, connection to the past was my source of awe. On March 4, I went to the San Diego Museum of Contemporary Art with my mom. Once out on the balcony, I could see a small section of La Jolla beach squished in between the jagged rocks and encroaching tide. I smelled the sweet, slightly musky ocean air from the rookery of seals trying to reclaim the beach. Out on the beach, I could see a little boy, probably around six or seven years old, wearing a red t-shirt and gray cargo shorts—a fashion I commonly adorned at that age. 

Seeing that boy play in the ankle-deep water with his parents brought back a lot of memories of jambing my tiny plastic yellow shovel into the top of my mound of sand, creating a sand castle on par with renowned architects. As my mom and I used to live in La Jolla, this area of the beach—near the Children’s Pool—was an area where we spent a lot of time. I felt awe and gratitude that I was able to reconnect with these old memories, because I realized that, although these days I like to pretend I am a whole new person, disconnected from the problems of a former life, that little boy is still a part of me. And I’m grateful to have such a great mom to guide me through all of the chaotic stages of growing up. 

Throughout this process, I also found awe in nature.

 On March 18-19, my parents had left me home alone while they were out of town. So, it was just me and my dog Pablo who requires several walks per day.

As I was walking Pablo in the canyon one night  around 9 p.m., the sky was pitch dark. All I could hear was a massive colony of frogs ribbiting away. 

With only the dim moonlight illuminating the Adobe Bluffs trail and orchestral frogs surrounding me, I felt like I was a small part in a larger ecosystem, that my daily woes were not so important. 

With the Journal always in the back of my mind as something that needed to get done, unlike when there is a pile busy work that you need to do, this actually made me slow down and stop  to smell the roses. I was really more mindful of all the small things I would do throughout the day.

 So in the many years I have ahead of me, I don’t think I will remember the score I got on a chemistry test or whether or not the water polo team won a big game, but I will always remember this journal, and how  actively searching for awe in my life can make all of it more meaningful.