I love space. I wanted to be an astronaut, and the yellowing NASA stickers on my cherished journals still remind me. That was one of my first tastes of awe.

I think that same awe gave me the naïve courage to sign up for my first 5K, then a 10K, then the NYC Marathon, then my first ultra. Eight NYC Marathons and four ultras later, I still don’t consider myself an athlete. Those races were never about PRs. They were about the journey, and the kind of awe that opens the lens so I can see the light and sparkle all around me. They also taught me I can do hard things.

Saturday morning: a Peloton ride with Robin Arzón and astronaut Dr. Jessica Meir, pedaling along as a special guest from the International Space Station. HELL YEAH.

I think I smiled the whole time.

Dr. Meir, on a nine month mission, talked about never tiring of the view of Earth, and how surreal it is to picture all of us down here, 250 miles below. Then she landed on the theme of the ride. We are all in it together.

The class delivered awe and sweat, and this body needed both.

I heard a line the other day that I can’t shake: I drink from the cup so I can pour. Awe is how I fill the cup. Passing it along is the pour, and if I have a tribe of people who get awe, it’s here.

My awe menu, for when I’m stuck or discombobulated (one of my favorite words):

Something small. A cool leaf from my favorite tree in Central Park. Hugo, our black cat, purring. A hug with my husband or daughter, or both at once, for at least 12 seconds because the studies say so. I count out loud in a funny voice until we’re all giggling.

A choir. Church, community, or one of the pick up groups popping up everywhere. Singing with other people lifts me every time. Sitting in a concert audience works too. There’s an energy in the room I can’t hide from.

A walk. Those who know me know I prescribe this for everything. Sad: take a walk. Stuck: take a walk. Any movement counts, but a walk is the easiest ten minute pause I know. I call it recess. And yes, I need the reminder too when life gets lifey.

Real words, not just hearts. I tap tap tap a few actual words about whatever made me pause in someone’s post or essay. Sometimes it’s just “I don’t know what to say, but your words touched me.” It always feels better than a heart. That’s the secret sauce, along with awe, because I never know who I’ll meet. Zing.

Soundtrack for this post (because music is one of the most powerful mechanisms of awe): Eric Whitacre’s “awesome” (heh heh, see what I did there) Deep Field: The Impossible Magnitude of our Universe. Hubble pointed at a tiny dark patch of sky that looked empty and found nearly 3,000 galaxies. Eric turned that story into music, sung by more than 8,000 voices from 120 countries, ages 4 to 87. We are all in it together, indeed.

Take it from here: leave a comment, share it with someone who needs a glimmer, or just sit with it for a minute. I’d love to see your awe menu in the comments.

Thanks for taking the journey with me. There’s always room on the next one. For more, find me at Camera Dark Notes on Substack.

I wish you awe. And joy. And love.