MMININDD SSPPIRIRITIT
walking be even more wondrous?
Awe is the amazement that stops you in the presence of something vast. By confounding your notion of the way things are, it lifts you into another realm of thought and feeling. A growing body of research has shown that it promotes generosity, kindness and even environmental awareness. “When we feel awe, we don’t think about ourselves and our problems,” Sturm says in an interview from San Francisco. “We think about the larger world around us.” Awe comes naturally to children looking up at a sky full of stars, but adult life tends to undermine it. We expand our own footprint with bigger homes, shinier possessions and more “likes” on social media, but risk losing the humility and open-heartedness of what’s known as “the small self.” The good news is that awe can be learned.
Sturm and her colleagues followed 60 healthy, happy walkers aged 60 to 90, randomly assigning them to an awe-walking group or a control group. Both groups received the same basic instructions: a weekly walk of 15 minutes, outdoors, at a light to moderate pace. They could walk anywhere at all, from the woods to a buzzing urban block. They would snap a few selfies on the way and keep a record of their impressions.
THE AWE-WALKING group received bonus instructions: Tap into your sense of wonder, notice details as you go, walk in new places if you can. One awe walker wrote of an evergreen forest: “The leaves were no longer crunchy underfoot because of the rain and … the walk was more spongy now …. Thought about the wonder a small child feels.” Control walkers focused on their own priorities. On the brink of a vacation in Hawaii, one thought about “all the things I had to do before we leave.”
The moods of both groups brightened in the course of the eight-week study, but awe walkers had a distinct edge on happiness. They smiled more broadly, according to analysis of their selfies. A more striking difference emerged over time. Awe walkers felt more connected to others. Not bad for 15 minutes a week.
The more they practised, the better they got. Their small selves bloomed – and their photos proved it. Unlike the control walkers, who centred every shot on themselves, the awe walkers stood at the edge of the frame, letting the background shine. This isn’t just a subjective impression; the researchers traced silhouettes and took pixel measurements. “[It was] the craziest thing we did,” says Sturm. “I couldn’t believe it would work, but it did.”
Launched well before the pandemic, the study made news as the second wave began and the world reached out for hope. Instagrammers created new hashtags, #awewalks, #awewalk and #awewalking. In more than 20 million posts and counting, they shared finds that ranged from wildflowers in Greece to fresh snow in downtown Boston. Some marvelled at waterfalls and rainbows, others at the majesty of a cathedral or the shapely girders of a bridge. For every photo of an owl or a camel, there’s a multitude of happy dogs. Awe is wherever you find it. And awe-inspiring finds turn up in the most unpromising places.
Once, on a walk to Loblaws seven years ago, I passed one of those mom-and-pop stores where the window is always smudged and the produce out front a little tired. It never crossed my mind to stop there until the sandwich board appeared, handlettered in red magic marker – someone’s tribute to a landlord who had died. “Dear Curtis. I will so miss you, your smile, your hugs. If it was not [for] you, your trust, your encouragement, I wouldn’t exist. Because of you, NEW IMMIGRANTS LIKE ME CAN DREAM.” A wave of sympathy washed my mind clean of everything but Curtis and the void he left in