Treadmills and Awe

Over the past several weeks, I have been getting up earlier than usual and–on three mornings during the week–going to the gym to workout. My workouts begin with 20 minutes on the treadmill at varied speeds and inclines, followed by a full body weightlifting session. I’m not trying to get “ripped” or “buff” or “shredded” or “diced,” I’m simply trying to set my body up to better weather the storms of aging. Plus, my mental health is much better when I move heavy things and sweat.

The other morning I was on the treadmill–my favorite one right by the front windows of the gym–and in one moment, I was huffing and puffing along as I stared out into a dark and grey morning. By the time I looked up again, the sun had emerged over both the horizon and the layer of clouds that was just above it. In an instant I was squinting and smiling as I struggled to take a picture of the scene without falling off the treadmill.

Later, when I got home, I wondered about why on earth I felt it so necessary to snap a photo of the sunrise. According to ChatGPT, I have seen 16,660 sunrises since the day I was born (gotta love AI). So why, as I was sweating in my gym socks, did I feel the need to risk life and limb–or, at the very least, my pride–all so that I could get a picture of something I had seen SO MANY TIMES before?

The answer I landed on was AWE. In his book, “Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder,” author Dacher Keltner says that “Awe is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your current understanding of the world.” 

If I’m being perfectly transparent, my current understanding of the world has been pretty dark. It has been filled with feelings of overwhelm and fatigue, and just a generalized kind of doom that seems to have taken up residence on my chest, making it hard to get in those deep, centering breaths. And that morning on the treadmill, somehow, something that I had seen 16,660 times before found me in all of that darkness and heaviness, and it was able to transcend it all. That statistically unremarkable sunrise did something remarkable for me:  It reminded me that there is SO MUCH MORE.

There is more than the little worlds we so often create for ourselves. There is more than our work, there is more than the current fire we are putting out, there is more than the doom scrolling on our phones lets us believe that there is. There is more than our grief, and more than our uncertainty. There is more than our illnesses, and more than our worries and anxieties. There is a presence SO VAST and filled with SO MUCH beauty, that we cannot help but feel different just from witnessing it–even if nothing around us is different. Even if we aren’t different either.

16,659–that’s how many times I’ve likely missed the opportunity to get out of my own little world. 16,659–that’s how many times I’ve settled for nothing more than what was on my phone, or on the news, or waiting in my inbox at work, or even where my calendar told me I had to be. 16,659–that’s how many times my current understanding of the world could have been changed, blown up, or reformed if only I had looked up. If only I had let that presence–the presence I call God–wash over me in whatever moment it found me. If only I had let myself be dwarfed–even if just for a moment–by its vastness.
But it only took one time–ONE TIME–to show me the myriad ways I have allowed my world to grow too small. And one time–ONE TIME–to remind me that God’s invitation to more is always available to us. No matter what is happening in the world. No matter how our hearts are hardened. No matter how heavy our chests may be feeling. The presence of God is constantly beckoning us toward lives that are bigger and deeper and wider than those that exist in the little worlds we have created for ourselves.

So this week, friends, I pray you pay attention and let the vastness of God find you right where you are, but not leave you there. May you soften into the awe of some moment–any moment–a dog’s sigh, a child’s laugh, the sweetness of silence in a world that seems like it can’t quit talking–something–anything. And then, let it expand your world.

Blowing up our little worlds with you,
Pr. Melissa

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