Meaning & Spirituality · 3 min read

Awe: The Transformative Power of Everyday Wonder

Professor Dacher Keltner’s book Awe: The Transformative Power of Everyday Wonder is a beautiful reminder that awe is not reserved for rare, extraordinary moments. We might imagine awe as something that only happens in front of mountains, cathedrals, oceans or night skies. But Keltner invites us to notice that awe is also woven through ordinary life: in music that moves us, in the kindness of strangers, in witnessing courage, in seeing a child laugh, in the changing light on trees, or in the quiet mystery of being alive at all.

Awe is the feeling that arises when we encounter something larger than our usual sense of self. It can make us pause. It can take us out of our repetitive thoughts and into contact with something wider, deeper or more mysterious. In that moment, the self can soften its grip. Our worries may not disappear, but they may become part of a larger landscape. We remember that we are not only our problems, our histories, our anxieties or our to-do lists. We are also part of nature, relationship, community, beauty and time.

This has something important to offer us therapeutically. When we are distressed, ashamed or overwhelmed, our world often becomes very small. The mind narrows around threat, self-criticism or survival. Awe gently widens the field again. It does not deny pain, but it can place pain within a larger context. A moment of wonder can remind the nervous system that there is still beauty, connection and possibility here too. For some people, this may come through nature; for others, through art, music, spirituality, collective movement, acts of kindness, or the profound experiences of birth, death and love.

Keltner’s work also suggests that awe can help us feel more connected to others. In awe, we are often moved beyond the isolated self and into a sense of belonging to something greater. This might be why awe so often brings humility, tenderness and generosity with it. We may feel smaller, but not in a diminished way. Rather, we feel less alone. We become part of a wider human story.

In therapy, awe can be a quiet but powerful resource. It might appear in the room as a moment of stillness, a new insight, a feeling in the body, or the recognition that something long held in shame can finally be met with compassion. It might also be something we cultivate outside the therapy room: a daily walk, listening deeply to music, looking at the sky, noticing beauty, or allowing ourselves to be touched by the ordinary miracle of another person’s care.

Perhaps awe asks very little of us, except that we slow down enough to notice. To look again. To listen more fully. To let the world be larger than our fear. In this way, everyday wonder can become a kind of medicine: not a cure for suffering, but a doorway back into aliveness, connection and meaning.