Senses of Awe, Senses of Energy

Letting ourselves be moved to move forward—and writing prompts, of course!

Jun 09, 2024

I can’t stop thinking about the connection between awe and energy.

I don't know how this year has fully felt for all of you thus far, but for me it's felt notably out of control on a variety of levels. I suppose a flood wreaking havoc on our schedules, senses of normalcy, and physical living space from January-April is by definition "disruptive." After a notably lovely and oh so necessary “Spring Break,” I then recently got to endure my first-ever bout of food poisoning, which lasted a terrible nine days and almost resulted in a visit to the emergency room for an IV and treatment. 0/10, do not recommend.

Combine that chaos with the suffocating stumbling blocks of late-stage capitalism and inescapable climate grief, alongside a relentless work schedule (one of the busiest for me in recent years) and oh right—devastating genocides* happening in real time like the worst sort of violent video games come to life, and it’s no wonder I’ve been feeling creatively, physically, mentally, and emotionally drained as of late. I can’t imagine I’m alone.

*Add the subsequent gaslighting and outright denail of said genocides [and all the rest; maybe the earth will stop rapidly warming if we just…do nothing?]—as if we’re fully expected to carry on with day-to-day life as usual, nothing to see here, or there, oh, and definitely don’t look over there right now, and it’s enough to make a person feel like they’re legitimately taking crazy pills.

I’m not so arrogant to believe the world needs me, per se [I’m of the mind that the world could use far fewer Caucasian people than it already has, but that’s an essay for another day], but I’m also not fatalist enough to believe there’s nothing I can (or morally should) do while our earth and so many humans we share it with are suffering.

Which means it's been essential for me these first five months of the year to constantly (re)focus my attention and intention on what I can control—namely: myself and my assorted personal and professional efforts—and do my best to let go of everything else I can’t (easier said than done, for sure).

I can be more intentional of which organizations I support, and which ones I don’t. I can invest in sustainable, slow fashion, something that’s been bringing me immense joy and satisfaction as of late. Inspired by friends like

Amy Dickson-Osler

I can even learn to make my own clothes. I can make sure every event and gathering I help create is truly inclusive. I can read books by Palestinian, Sudanese, and Congolese writers. I can read books about these places, about these conflicts. I can educate myself, perpetually. I can unlearn where I need to and share that knowledge with others. As a human with an amazing cognitive system in my skull replete with a bevy of critical thinking skills, I can trust myself to know the difference between propaganda/misinformation and the truth. I can uplift marginalized voices. I can listen better and more often.

In the midst of everything, every day I can seek out awe, because I need it. We all do. What I’ve noticed again and again the past five months: The moments where I feel the most awe, where I feel like “a bride married to amazement,” I also feel the most energized.

We all deserve to live in peace. To be able to find and seek awe in our daily lives. That so many humans around the world are living in a perpetual “fight or flight” state will never not be heartbreaking and utterly unfair. I long for a world where we can all exist in various states of awe, without fear, without predatory capitalism forcing our hands, without endlessly struggling to simply make ends meet.

Where I forever feel the most awe: In the water.

One of the places I've refocused my energy this year is toward the way I work, or perhaps more aptly stated: I’ve refocused the way I spend my time, both in a professional and personal/creative capacity. I don't typically separate the two very often in my brain: As Annie Dillard so aptly put it in The Writing Life, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."

Even still, logically I know there is work I do to pay my bills and work I do because it lights me up inside; when and where those two circles overlap is an inspired realm maintained by a magical and tenuous alchemy.

After working at what felt like a breakneck pace with my art for years, including co-founding and managing a local artists collective that was one of the most beautiful, vibrant, and rewarding things I’ve ever helped breathe into being—and also one of the most economically and energetically exhausting—I’ve needed to rest on my creative laurels for a bit, so to speak.

More than that, I’ve needed to take a sustained and intentional amount of time to REST when it comes to my own illustrative creativity. That’s included stepping away from selling my art, in an attempt to fully decouple my creativity from capitalism [a luxury in and of itself, albeit likely a temporary one, and something I know not all working artists can afford to do].

Training for some big swims this summer.

In times of great stress and great strife it’s easy to throw our creative pursuits aside for more “serious” work. Or for rest. As much as I hate to admit it—me being a person who would choose to forgo sleep forever if I wouldn’t legimately lose my mind and then perish in a fit of sheer exhaustion—it’s been well-established that rest is essential for growth, for creativity, for all manner of physical and mental wellness.

But it’s a tricky balance, isn’t it? Because if all we’re doing is resting all the time, or perpetually looking away because the awareness we could have about what’s going on in the world hurts too badly, then when and how are we helping? Where and how are we growing?

Perhaps the better question is: When and how are we engaging?

And if we’re only engaging with what’s easy and light: What’s the point of being fully alive? “The tortoise is both black and bright” Melville wrote in The Encantadas so many years ago and I think about it all the time, and especially when I stumble heartfirst into toxic positivity, however well-meaning it might be.

From *The Encantadas* by Herman Melville.

The truth: The world needs our creative energy (and our critical thinking skills) now more than ever.

The world needs engaged creatives*, humans who are committed to building and fostering community care—a wide variety of people with different skill-sets who are willing to show up and help and perpetually work collaboratively to lift up their local and global communities in tangible, sustainable ways.

In times of sustained darkness, we need awe more than ever.

*P.S. That’s a workshop link, for a free upcoming Create + Engage workshop via Creative Fuel with Anna Brones [and friends!].

A FEW MORE WORDS ON AWE

On May 10th we were among the lucky ones treated to a rare aurora event that thanks to a serendipitous solar storm of epic proportions could be viewed from various geographic locations around the world—many of which included our own personal backyards for the first (and maybe only) time in our lifetimes.

We only found out about the possibility of seeing northern lights from our proverbial backyard thanks to a dear friend texting us about it midday on the Friday they were set to show up and show out.

"Aurora forecasted for tonight in your neck of the woods!!!" the text read, and it was all we needed to upend any plans we already had in favor of an impromptu adventure centered on the chance to glimpse a beefed up version of our long preferred form of Friday Night Lights.

We stayed up way past our preferred bedtimes to crane our necks toward the sky for hours, and oh, was it worth it. The light show was more stunning and otherworldly than I expected, and was at its peak here from 12:15 to 1 AM early Saturday morning.

A short amount of time, to be certain, but the awe lingers. I can’t imagine I’ll ever forget the feeling of awe I felt that morning, watching those magic lights dance across the sky.

Getting to see such a fleeting and visually stunning celestial event (and my first-ever aurora borealis!) beneath ridgelines we know by heart and while standing next to a lake I swim daily made it feel doubly special.

It was also the first time in a long time I felt a tangible (and sustained) burst of energy. No doubt connected to the spontaneity, excitement, and sheer awe of it all.

What my phone saw, altogether different than what I saw.

WRITING PROMPTS TO EXPLORE AWE & ENERGY

What's drawing your attention as of late? Put another way: Where are you naturally feeling your energy move you?

Where are you feeling your energy waning? What's something you can let go of in the week(s) ahead?

Write a story about a person / place / thing with boundless energy: What are they doing? Where are they going (if anywhere)? What aren't they doing?
Write about something (anything!) that leaves you feeling awestruck. Maybe it's the moon, one of the myriad magnificent flora and fauna we share this earth with, a friend's talent, a particular piece of music.
If you got to see the northern lights in May (or ever in your life before this past month), write about it. Where were you? What did you see/hear/feel? Who was standing beside you?
- If you haven't ever seen the northern lights, write a piece of fiction about seeing them for the first time, OR write about another time you looked up at the sky and felt moved.
Write about something that hurts right now, something that’s hard. Let all of the emotions in (and any corresponding sensations); write your way into and through them.
- Make a list of what’s “black and bright” in your life right now.

As always, I recommend sitting with each of these prompts for at least ten minutes at a time. Set a timer and try to keep writing for ten minutes without stopping or self-editing or even trying to steer yourself a certain direction. I’m a firm and longtime believer that when it comes to prompts like these, wherever you end up on the page is precisely where you’re meant to be.