I’ve been thinking about the concept of awe recently. In fact, one of my "not New Year’s resolutions" this year is to experience more awe in my life. To be open to the beauty and power of life’s wonders and the experiences that give meaning and a sense that there is something bigger to everyday living.

In his book, Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life, psychologist Dacher Keltner offers this definition: “Awe is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your current understanding of the world.”

In considering this idea, it certainly seems that we experience awe in nature—seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time, for example, or Niagara Falls or the sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean. But also the tree in your backyard when the leaves change to vibrant yellows and oranges in fall, or a blue heron taking flight over a lake.

While I don’t consider myself the most spiritual person, I imagine that people experience awe in the spiritual—in feeling the presence of some higher power, perhaps through prayer, meditation or a mystical experience. And certainly we experience awe in the arts. When you get chills from hearing a piece of music that moves you from Bach, Brahms, Miles, Coltrane, Lady Gaga, Green Day, or Norah Jones. (Sing to me, Norah!) When you see a painting by da Vinci or Monet, or Pollock, or a graffiti mural downtown. Or architecture, poetry, or a ballet dancer soaring across the stage with grace and strength.

And then there is tasting unbelievable homemade pasta in Tuscany (or at my mom’s house), seeing a baby giggle, or watching a couple in their 90s holding hands while slowly walking down the street. Feeling the immediate elation while letting out an unexpected primal roar, in concert with 40,000 others after a game-winning homer in the bottom of the 9th. Or hearing my daughter sing and seeing the excitement on my son’s face as he tries to explain an intricate math equation that, to me, looks like Arabic. Or your dog’s excitement when you get home at the end of the day.

Is awe simply a more intense feeling of beauty? Or is there more to it? There can be a sense of fear involved in experiencing awe: a massive thunderstorm rolling in or feeling the house shake from winds gusting over 60 miles per hour. The ocean certainly has elements of fear with its vastness and power.

The power of music and awe

As I contemplate awe, and seek more of it in my life, I realize that I actually experience awe every day in my work as a music therapist working in a hospital setting. In facilitating music experiences, and connecting on an aesthetic level with those who are suffering, I experience awe. And in thinking about how awe can be a unique combination of beauty and, perhaps, fear, I often see awe experienced in the patients I work with.

One such man was in his 80s. As cancer had gotten the best of him, he was on in-patient hospice care. As I’m often asked to do, I went to visit him and provide some music for comfort. When I walked into the room he was in bed with his eyes closed, non-respondent. His mouth was agape, and his breathing was shallow and labored. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be in any pain or discomfort.

I took out my guitar and played a soothing soundscape, working to "hold" him in the space with the music. (Regardless of a patient's condition, I always believe the music gets through. I feel it. And I’ve seen indicators.) As I played, I thought about him—who he was, what he did, what his life was like. I wondered who would miss him. I concentrated on providing the right aesthetics and beauty for the moment. I felt connected to him within the music experience.

Then, after about 15 minutes he suddenly opened his eyes and looked right at me. It startled me. I was frozen and could not move away from his gaze. Somehow I kept the music going. Then I saw a single tear form in his right eye and run down his cheek. He looked unsure, but at the same time, peaceful. After a moment—I don’t know if it was a second or five minutes—his eyes were closed again. I played for a bit longer and then just sat in the silence with him, contemplating what had just happened, and that there may have been something bigger going on here. I later heard that he passed within an hour after I left his room.

I believe that while experiencing the aesthetics of the music, combined with a sense of mortal uncertainty about what is beyond this world, he experienced awe. I did too.

© Psychology Today