I want you to think for a moment about the last time something stopped you.
And not in an anxious way,
But in the other way.
The way where you looked up and something was so much larger than you,
That your thoughts went quiet.
And for a moment,
You forgot what you were worried about.
Forgot to measure yourself against anything.
Forgot the whole running commentary.
You already know this feeling.
You've known it your whole life.
Maybe you found it in the dark once,
Looking up at a sky full of stars,
And suddenly understanding how impossibly small you are.
Maybe it arrived in a piece of music that reached somewhere words couldn't.
Maybe it was in a person,
Brand new to the world,
Discovering their own hands.
That feeling is awe.
And your body has been reaching towards it your whole life.
Let yourself settle now.
Allow your eyes to close.
And take a breath.
A full breath in.
And a slow breath out.
Feel the weight of yourself.
The heaviness of your hands.
The way your body takes up space in this moment.
In this room.
In this one small corner of an incomprehensibly large world.
Allow yourself to feel how very small you are.
But as a relief,
The kind of smallness that means you don't have to hold everything.
The kind that means you are part of something.
Not separate from it.
Now think of something that has ever made you feel that way.
It doesn't have to be grand.
It can be a ray of light through a window.
The geometry of a spider's web.
The sound of rain before it arrives.
A face you love.
Let it come to mind without forcing it.
Notice what happens in your body when it arrives.
Maybe something opens.
Something in your chest that was tight.
Begins to release.
The default hum of thought.
Did I do enough?
What does this mean about me?
It goes quiet.
Stay with whatever is here.
This is your body doing something it already knows how to do.
Something it was designed for.
When you are in the presence of something vast.
Truly vast.
The part of your mind that turns everything back toward you.
That measures and compares and keeps score.
It simply stills.
You cannot hold shame and awe at the same time.
There isn't room.
Let your breath deepen slightly.
Let yourself wonder about something.
Maybe the fact that right now,
Somewhere,
Someone is being born.
That every leaf on every tree follows a pattern so precise that no human hand can replicate it.
That you are sitting here,
Breathing.
Your heart keeping time without being asked.
A miracle so constant you stop noticing it.
Let yourself not understand any of it.
Let it be a mystery.
That not understanding.
The living inside the question.
The willingness to stay in the mystery without immediately reaching for an answer.
That is the heart of awe.
You don't have to explain it.
You just have to let it be larger than you.
The breath moving through you.
Notice if the grip of today has loosened even a little.
If the self that worries and plans and reviews has stepped back even slightly.
To make room for something else.
That something else has always been here.
It doesn't go anywhere.
It's just very quiet.
And we are often very loud.
So we forget to listen.
It is here now.
And you have found your way back.
In the same way you always do.
Not by working harder.
But by looking up.
By letting something be bigger than you.
By remembering for just a moment.
That your life is not only about you.
And that is the most freeing thing there is.
Rest here for a few more breaths.
And you go back into your day.
When the noise returns as it will.
See if you can let one thing stop you.
One small thing.
That is actually miraculous.
A light on the surface.
A sound you haven't really heard before.
Something your eye passes over a hundred times without landing.
But this time,
Land on it.
Stay in it.
Don't reach for your phone.
Just wonder.
That wondering.
That awe is its own kind of coming home.
