#58: Awe

Why we need it. How to find it.

Mar 22, 2023

Hello!

I’m going to dive straight into this one. Mostly because it’s another experiment; partly because I couldn’t figure out how to preface it.

The central premise is this:

We need more moments of awe in our daily lives.

And I stumbled on it last week thanks to two seemingly unrelated activities:

Reading a lot of Nick Cave
Playing a squash match

Bear with me. There’s a red thread, I promise.

In the first week of January, I received a copy of Faith, Hope, and Carnage. It’s an edited conversation between the artist Nick Cave and Irish writer Seán O’Hagan. There was no note when the book arrived, but I knew who it was from. (Thank you, Jörgen!)

Faith, Hope, and Carnage is an open-ended exploration into the role of creativity, music, religion, and grief. I’m going to give some tragic context here, so please skip to the quotation below if death is a triggering topic for you.

Last year, Cave’s eldest son Jethro died seven years after his younger son Arthur passed away aged 15. In between this time, Cave also lost his mother and two close friends. Through this unfathomable period of loss, Cave managed to transform his grief into an empowering, prolific, and hopeful energy. And this energy has opened his eyes to the importance of awe:

“I think in a way my work has become an explicit rejection of cynicism and negativity. I simply have no time for it. I mean that quite literally, and from a personal perspective. No time for censure or relentless condemnation. No time for the whole cycle of perpetual blame. Others can do that sort of thing. I haven’t the stomach for it, or the time. Life is too damn short, in my opinion, not to be awed.”

Awe.

Small word. Big meaning.

To be awed is to feel great respect, admiration, and wonder. Often mixed with fear and surprise.

I hadn’t ever paid much attention to the feeling of awe until reading Cave. But his words tuned me into it. And then last weekend, it hit me.

While playing squash.

I was in a Swedish city called Linköping, competing in a regional team match. And I was losing. To a player who’s always been stronger than me. In the break between the 2nd and 3rd game, my 15-year-old teammate comes down to coach me. She looks me square in the eyes and says:

“Are you happy with how you’re playing right now?”

This wasn’t a dig; it was a genuine question.

Slightly stunned by the candour, I told her I wasn’t.

“Well, then. You need a goal. You’re going to aim for two more points than your previous game. And then you’ll go from there. You might not win the match, but you can at least make her work for it and show everyone here what a great player you are.”

And that’s exactly what I did. Instead of losing 11-5, I lost 12-10. I took it point by point, made my opponent run, and almost won the game.

This was the first time I’d met this younger teammate of mine, as she usually trains with other junior players. Now, in normal circumstances, it would be tempting to dismiss the advice from someone who (a) you barely know and (b) is less than half your age. “You’ve been playing this sport for 2/3s of this person’s life. Why should you trust her advice?”

But this is the beautiful thing about semi-competitive sports. You can get your ass kicked by a 66-year-old (true story) and get the best coaching advice of your playing career from a mid-teen (see above).

It’s the ultimate equaliser.

And when the playing field is equal, it’s easier to be awed.

I recounted this story yesterday to another teammate who’s a similar age to me. She said it takes vulnerability to accept advice from a much younger quasi-stranger.

And that’s when I got thinking about the startup and non-profit workplace.

Tech startups have had a reputation for skewing younger. And as Penny Wilson told us the other week, charity boards tend to skew older (>50).

Imagine how much we could grow, how much awe we would feel, if we had more intergenerational exchanges at work. And dared to be vulnerable in those moments.

The same is true for our personal lives.

As an example: I’ve maintained a friendship with my art teacher since I left school in 2008. He’s in his 60s now and one of the most influential people in my life. But for years, I felt unable to be open about our friendship because of how some of my same-aged friends reacted to the information at the time. They thought it was weird.

But as Cave said, life’s too short for this kind of scepticism.

From last year’s gallery visit, an annual ritual for me and my art teacher. Artwork by Layla Andrews for Soho Revue.

So how do we overcome it?

Aside from hiring more diverse teams, organisations can create reverse-mentoring programs and let junior staff share their knowledge upwards. Data shows these programs can increase employee retention, boost culture change, and promote diversity.

And the opportunities start much earlier than in the workplace, too.

Take the Cleveland Institute of Music. The conservatory offers students free accommodation in exchange for playing and teaching music to the local retired communities. At Oklahoma’s Grace Living Center, kindergartners and senior residents share the same space and participate in various joint activities. Similar initiatives exist in Seattle and Invermere, British Columbia.

These kinds of intergenerational community partnerships are powerful because they foster mutual empathy and promote lifelong learning. Two vital skills for a thriving future. (Pro tip, read Thrive: The Purpose of Schools in a Changing World. It’s my source for these amazing examples.)

Here’s what one of the Cleveland music students had to say about their experience:

“When I tell people I’m living in a retirement home, they think I’m joking. The people of Judson have had amazing careers, amazing experiences. It’s inspiring and humbling.”

And there you have it: inspiration and humility.

The ideal starting ingredients for awe.

And the end of this missive.

Pass It On

Discussion about this post