We’re being inundated with quite a bit of information lately, all of it colliding to create the effect of a billion alarms going off at once. I know I have stacks of unread emails and browser tabs patiently awaiting my attention—all important information; all just a bit more than I can absorb right now.
With the last bits of shaded snow melting into the earth and the newly balmy spring sunshine, I’ve been eager to be outside and search for more signs of spring. Somewhere along the way, I heard the phrase “awe walk”, and it’s a practice I’m trying to cultivate. It’s very easy for me to catalog all of the tasks that still need done and shame myself over incomplete ones as I walk around. To break this endless mental churning, I’m taking walks with the sole intention of finding little bits of awe: interesting fungus devouring a stump, daffodil sprouts spearing through last year’s leaves, tiny mossy worlds, insect trails carved into a dead tree like ancient runes, a vibrant bluebird feather amongst tired grass.
Information doesn’t only come from books and articles and podcasts and post after post after post. Spring is coming despite everything. Despite fear, destruction, grief, and heartbreak. Buds insist on forming, green shoots insist on meeting the sun, seeds insist on bursting open, thrusting white roots into the soil. So must we too insist on joy and awe.
I invite you to go on an awe walk of your own this week. This isn’t restricted to nature either—there are many opportunities for awe in our human-built environment: a kitty in a sunny window, an exquisitely carved facade, the way the sun lines up with a street, funny graffiti, a hidden alleyway. What do you notice in your environment? What do you notice in yourself? It’s all information, baby.